


Cascade of Healing

by LaLuna95



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, POV Hermione Granger, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLuna95/pseuds/LaLuna95
Summary: "Still, there were days where everything seemed almost... normal. That was the curious thing about healing from the aftermath, there were days that could trick you into thinking nothing was amiss. When the warmth that normally surrounded the Burrow returned, as the Weasley family dined in mis-matched chairs in their tiny kitchen, the small space illuminated by candlelight."A Hermione-centric view of what happened after the war. Non-canon-compliant post-Battle of Hogwarts. Eventual George/Hermione.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 83
Kudos: 81





	1. Six Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first attempt at writing and publishing fanfiction in over 10 years, so I'm feeling a bit nervous. In case it wasn't evident, you can assume canon all the way up until the end of book 7, disregarding the epilogue. From there, I plan on dancing on the grave of the respect I once held for JKR by completely disregarding anything she's ever said in an interview or on the Pottermore website. If you enjoyed this chapter, leave a review! I'm hoping to update weekly, so I'll see you all next week! xx

Six weeks. It was disconcerting, truthfully, the way six weeks could feel a lot more like six minutes in the aftermath of grief and trauma. Hermione hadn’t even really noticed the cool chill of spring burning off in the sunny summer rays as May gave way to June. There was too much to do, too much to carry.

The immediate aftermath of the battle had been horrific for the whole trio as they shouldered their sorrows and put on smiling faces. Prophet reporters hounded their every move, even as they retreated back to the Burrow. It was the only place that made sense. Harry had the worst of it, of course. The Boy that Lived more times than anyone could count at that point, the Chosen One. Reflecting on his near-death experience (or was it actual death? Hermione had spent days obsessively researching the limbo Harry had described himself being pulled into after Voldemort finally hit him with the killing curse and found no concrete answers) had been put on hold in favor of meetings with newly-appointed Minister of Magic Shacklebolt, a full workup at St. Mungos, and what had become the full-time job of dodging photos and waving off owls begging for exclusive interviews.

Hermione and Ron had fared only slightly better. Hermione, especially, was still getting used to being a household name, much preferring her previous anonymity. Ron handled the fame slightly better, glad to be shaking off the shadow of his famous friend in favor of his own talents. They all three suffered silently at the memorial, held just a fortnight after the battle’s end in what remained of the Great Hall. Hermione was only grateful that Kingsley had the good sense to not ask any of them to speak as Ron clutched her hand tightly, staring intently at the place where his brother’s broken body had lain just fourteen days prior.

Still, there were days where everything seemed almost... normal. That was the curious thing about healing from the aftermath, there were days that could trick you into thinking nothing was amiss. When the warmth that normally surrounded the Burrow returned, as the Weasley family dined in mis-matched chairs in their tiny kitchen, the small space illuminated by candlelight.

Tonight was one such night. Bill and Fleur had flooed to the home in the early evening to join the clan for dinner with Percy following just a few minutes behind. The table felt full and jovial, the empty chairs packing less of a punch, though the lack of explosions and Mrs. Weasley’s scolding was sure to ache if any one of them dwelled on it for too long.

“The minister said we’ll be starting the Hogwarts rebuild soon,” Percy said to the table as he helped himself to a large portion of shepherd’s pie, passing the baking dish to Bill on his right. “Likely early next week, wanted me to ask you lot if you’d like to help.” He waved his fork toward the trio and Ginny, seated side-by-side on the other side of the long dining table.

Harry shrugged, looking to Ginny beside him, who smiled. “Guess it’s the least we could do, seeing as we destroyed the place.”

“Harry, dear, no one thinks-” Molly began, before Harry laughed, the sound cutting her off.

“I was kidding, Mrs. Weasley. Still, it feels right to go back and help rebuild. Be part of putting together the world after... all that.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, her fork hovering in front of her mouth. “You’re right, Harry. I think we should do it.” Ron, mouth full of food, nodded enthusiastically in agreement, placing a hand on Hermione’s knee under the table as he did so, causing a slight flush to rise to her ears.

“Do you think George-” Harry started, before Ginny’s hand shot up from the table, grasping his wrist and giving him a look. Harry cut himself off, and the rest of the table shifted uncomfortably. George hadn’t made it to the dinner table in weeks.

“Splendid!” said Percy before taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. “I’ll let Minister Shacklebolt know first thing tomorrow.”

The table all smiled at Percy’s use of the minister’s official title. None of them could quite bring themselves to refer to Kingsley as such just yet, though for what it was worth none of them could imagine a wizard better suited for the job. The table lapsed into side conversations, the chatter consistent as the group attempted to fill the room with words. Hermione listened contentedly, poking at her food as Ron, Harry, and Ginny chattered about the announcement of the return of the quidditch season. The Prophet had reported that the World Cup would continue as planned the following year, and it had been a bright spot for her three friends.

As dinner wound down, Bill and Fleur stood to take their leave, citing Bill’s early morning as a reason for their early departure. Mrs. Weasley looked up from her cleaning to give her son a kiss on the cheek, wishing the couple safe travels as they headed back to the sitting room to floo home.

Hermione picked up the leftover shepherds pie off the table, bringing it to Mrs. Weasley at the sink. “Would you like me to vanish the leftovers, Mrs. Weasley?” she asked, setting the dish down on the countertop next to her.

“Oh no, dear,” Mrs. Weasley gave her a kind smile. “I haven’t gotten to saving George’s plate just yet.”

Hermione nodded, placing a hand on Molly’s back in understanding before heading into the sitting room. The fire was alive and roaring from the departure of the eldest Weasley. Ron was seated on one end of the sofa with Harry facing him, cross-legged on the floor with Ginny’s head in his lap, a table set up with wizard chess between them. Harry was squinting at the figures from eye level, trying to determine his next move as he absent-mindedly played with Ginny’s hair. Percy had evidently made his leave as well, returning to his flat in London.

“Gonna study some more, Hermione?” Ginny asked, twisting her head toward the sound of Hermione’s footsteps, peeking around Harry’s chest. Ron looked up at the mention of her name, a goofy smile crossing his face.

“I think so,” Hermione replied, toeing off her shoes and socks before grabbing her _Advanced Charms_ textbook off the end table and settling into the sofa, her legs draped over Ron’s lap. “I know Professor McGonagall said she would arrange for private lessons once a week for my NEWTs once the school year started, but I only have six months until December and I want to take them by then.”

Ron shook his head and snorted as she flipped open her book to the page marked by her bookmark. “Only you would take the hardest wizarding exams after being given honorary marks,” he said. He looked down at the board as one of Harry’s pieces moved across the checkered squares. “Knight to F3.”

Hermione looked up from her page, rolling her eyes at Ginny before leveling Ron with a look. “Well, Ron, some of us want to feel like we worked for our accomplishments.”

“Well we did work for them, didn’t we! We destroyed a bunch of bloody horcruxes and Harry killed the most famous dark wizard of the century,” Ron said, his eyes now trained back on the board.

“Yes, but we had a lot of help with all of those things. I mean honestly, Ronald, do you think we could have done any of that without Dumbledore or the Order or any of the, quite literally, hundreds of people that showed up to fight last-” Hermione was cut off by Ron’s lips crashing into her own. She had been so wrapped up in her defense that she hadn’t noticed him leaning across her body for the attack. She shut her book in reflex.

“Ugh,” Ginny wrinkled her nose, pushing herself up so she was sitting next to Harry, tucking her legs under the chess table. “Must that be your solution every time?”

Hermione pushed one of Ron’s shoulders, laughing at the wink he gave her as he flopped back down into his spot. “You know it’s because I think you’re brilliant, Hermione, that’s why it seems so unreasonable,” he said. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Ron had already turned to look at his sister. “And I don’t want to hear a word out of you, Gin, not after the two of you snogging each other at every opportunity sixth year.”

He gestured to her and Harry, who had suddenly become very interested in his rook, but Ginny justed scoffed.

“Please, like the rest of us didn’t have to suffer through _Lav Lav and Won Won_ the entire year before!”

“Oh, I know you didn’t just go there!”

Hermione laughed softly to herself, cracking her book open once again as the two continued to bicker. Harry raised his voice to announce his next move, but Ron had apparently gone deaf to his best friend. Eventually, both Weasleys ran out of steam and Ginny flopped back into Harry’s lap, rolling her eyes.

The evening passed in much of the same way, the boys getting through two rounds of chess before Ginny stood up with a yawn.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” she said, kissing Harry’s head gently while he reached up to grab her hand. “I’ll see you lot in the morning.”

Harry’s arm outstretched as she walked away, their fingers falling apart at the last moment. Hermione had gotten through a full chapter on duplication charms, but she wanted to push herself for one more, so she stayed sprawled out as the boys set up another game. Soon, though, her eyes grew heavy and Harry and Ron’s chatter became like white noise. Before long, she had fallen asleep, her book landing on her chest with a thud.

* * *

The fire had died down to embers by the time Hermione woke, an afghan thrown haphazardly over her body in the hours since the others had vacated the room, her book sitting back on the end table, a bookmark dangling out the top marking her page. She smiled sleepily, sitting up to relocate to Ginny’s room before a slight crash in the kitchen caused her to jump.

She was grateful to still be wearing her robes, her wand tucked into an inner pocket that she now reached for, cautiously pulling herself up from the sofa. Her bare feet made little noise as she padded across the room to the kitchen door, her wand aloft with her silent _lumos_ charm illuminating the tip. The short walk felt like an eternity as she went over the protective charms and spells the Order had placed over the Burrow in the weeks since the war. She knew, logically, it was unlikely that a Death Eater was waiting for her in the kitchen, but that didn’t keep her heart from trying to jump out of her chest.

She winced at the creak that sounded as she pushed open the heavy wooden door, swinging it open to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered form standing in front of the pantry.

“George?” Hermione whispered, lighting the candle on the kitchen table with her wand to illuminate the room. George jumped a bit, wheeling around to look at the witch.

He looked awful. He had grown skinnier in a way that could rival Ron or Harry, with dark circles framing his eyes. In the first week post-battle, seeing George had been like a sucker punch for anyone who knew and loved him and Fred. A constant reminder that his twin was gone. This George, however, was like a shell of his former self. The only remaining resemblance seemed to be his hair, still that brilliant red, grown long to hide his missing ear.

“Merlin, Hermione,” he mumbled, a piece of bread lodged in his mouth. “About scared the pants off me.”

“Well, I could say the same to you,” she replied, not unkindly. “Thought maybe a death eater had gotten through our defenses.”

George smiled, but the gesture was hollow, not reaching his eyes. “Sorry.”

She dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand, walking silently to the other side of the kitchen to open the old cast-iron stove, one of the few survivors of the fire Bellatrix had set on the old house. George’s eyes followed her blankly. She pulled out the warm plate that was nestled inside, setting it on the weathered table. “Your mum left a warming charm on it,” she said in explanation, giving him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re eating. Goodnight, George.”

She couldn’t quite discern his mumbled response as she walked back into the sitting room, closing the heavy kitchen door behind her. She summoned her charms textbook on her way to the stairs, the tome flying across the room and safely into her grasp before she took the stairs two at a time to Ginny’s room, planning on slipping into a quick and quiet sleep again.


	2. Mind Magicke

The morning light filtered through the small window in Ginny’s room perfectly when Hermione woke up. Despite spending most of her night on the couch, she had enjoyed a fairly peaceful sleep devoid of any kind of dream, a reality she rarely enjoyed these days. Ginny was still asleep in the twin bed beside her, mouth slightly ajar and hair sticking to her forehead. Hermione smiled at the girl and quietly pulled herself out of bed, grabbing her wand off the nightstand and shoving it into the waistband of her flannel pants before heading to the kitchen to make some tea before family breakfast.

The kitchen was already bright, and Hermione found herself whistling without thinking as she filled the kettle with an  _ Aguamenti  _ charm. She lit the stove with a flick of her wand, the flame merrily dancing to life under her concentration, and set the kettle atop the fire.

“Morning.”

Hermione jumped a little, turning her head toward the new voice as George stepped into the room. She controlled her features carefully, trying to hide her shock at seeing the man twice in a less-than-12-hour period, then smirked.

“Is it your goal to scare me into cardiac arrest, George Weasley?” she asked in her best impression of his mother, turning back toward the stove. The sorry attempt at a joke only earned her a barely-audible hum. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure,” he replied, scraping one of the chairs against the floor as he pulled it back and threw himself in it.

Hermione grabbed two teacups and saucers out of one of the cupboards, filling each with a spoonful of tea leaves from a canister by the stove. The kettle whistled happily and she moved it from the stove, filling up each cup then floating them to the table. George took his with a nod and pulled out his own wand, summoning milk from the fridge with one hand as he added sugar to the cup with the other. Hermione sat at the seat across from him, adding some milk to her own tea then trading the jug for the sugar spoon once George sat it down.

The two sipped their tea in silence for a bit. It was a sort of neutral quiet, not entirely awkward but not comfortable or companionable either. The unsaid reality of the once-happy redheaded boy now buried on the outskirts of the Burrow’s property hung between them, causing a bit of tension that the birds chirping happily outside couldn’t seem to mend. 

“How’s studying for your NEWTS going?” George finally asked, stirring his tea and watching Hermione sip hers out of the corner of his eye.

“How’d you know I was taking them?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise. She hadn’t discussed the decision except at family dinners, from which George had been notably absent. She was positive she had still planned on returning to Hogwarts the last time he made an appearance.

“I do still have one working ear you know,” he said, bringing his cup to his lips. “I’ve been listening.”

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. “Been getting creeping tips from Kreacher?” she asked warily, causing George to cough into his cup. Hermione laughed at this, and once he had cleared his throat George joined. It was an incredible sound, one that filled the small room with joy, and the smile that accompanied it made its way to George’s eyes this time. Hermione hadn’t realized how much she had missed the ever-present giggle of the Weasley twins until that moment, and in the seconds as they caught their breath, she noticed that it made George seem younger, less war-torn and weary.

“No,” he finally said, settling his cup on the saucer and shaking his head. “If anything, Peeves taught Fred and I everything I’d ever need to know about sneaking.”

Hermione’s lips twitched up into another smile, and she shook her head. “That damn poltergeist.” 

She took another long drink of her tea, and couldn’t resist the temptation to peek over the rim of the cup to see George staring blankly into his own tea. She swallowed heavily. “Anyway, the studying is going... fine, honestly. I hate to admit that Ron and Harry were right, but it does seem that most of the spells I’ll encounter on the tests are well within my skill set.” 

George had slowly looked up from his cup to make eye contact with her while she spoke, which unnerved her a bit. She gave a little shrug and continued on, if only to ignore the odd sensation. 

“If I’m being frank with myself, I don’t think the test is really the reason I wanted to continue studying at Hogwarts, even part time. My parents are,” she paused, chewing her lip and wondering if she should even continue with her unplanned confession. She hadn’t even told Ron the true reason she wanted time back at the castle, but when George didn’t fill in the silence or break his attentive gaze, she carried on. “My parents are still in Australia, memories wiped, and I thought I knew the spells I would need to restore them but... the more I look into it the less sure I am. Magic of the mind is a funny thing, and I’m hoping Professor Flitwick might have some insight he’ll let slip. I... don’t really want anyone to know about my parents in case there’s a vengeful Death Eater out there someone looking for a way to hurt me.” 

She took a breath, shook her head, and traced the rim of her teacup absently. “Gosh, I’m sorry, George. I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that on you-”

He waved her off, almost identically to the way she had waved him off the night before. A part of her wondered if he was mocking her. Had it been Fred, she would have been positive but... of course it would never be Fred again. George, she had realized in the last 15 hours or so, was much harder to read. She gave him a smile of thanks anyway and took another sip of her tea, almost gone now.

“You think Trelawney would predict my demise if she saw these leaves?” she asked, more to herself than to George.

“Nah, that was more Harry’s thing wasn’t it? Though... I guess the old kook was right in the end, wasn’t she?”

“He did, technically, die I guess.” Hermione agreed, swirling the remaining tea in her cup as George drained his.

“Well, I must be off now.”

He stood from the table rather abruptly and flicked his wand, sending his teacup to the sink to clean itself, then began walking towards the kitchen door. Hermione couldn’t keep the blatant shock from her face this time.

She recovered from her speechlessness right as he placed his hand on the knob. “Off.. where, exactly?”

He turned toward her. In this light, just outside the reach of the sun, his face had lost the glow from his earlier chuckle and was back to showing the weight of his emotions, his eyes darker now. He searched her face for a minute, then smirked. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Hermione,” he finally said before turning back to the door and exiting. 

Hermione listened to the door thump, then turned her head to the window curiously. After a moment, George’s figure appeared. He made his way down the path leading from the Burrow and then crossed the tall grass off to the point just outside of their wards and protections. She watched as he turned on his heel, disappearing into thin air, then turned her head to the hearth at the other end of the room where Molly had relocated the family clock after the war. It was functioning properly again, with seven of the hands pointing at “home,” George’s currently hovering over “in transit,” and one hand, the reason Mrs. Weasley avoided looking in this corner of the room these days, hovering over “lost.” It seemed the clock, like the Weasleys themselves, did not have a clean and easy solution for Fred’s death.

After a second or two, George’s hand clicked curiously back into place with the other seven in the home slot, his journey apparently over. Hermione looked back out the window, expecting to see his bright red hair poking up out of the grass, but it soon became evident that the Burrow was not the home the clock was referring to. Curious indeed. Hermione had wondered whether he had been visiting the flat he and Fred had shared above their shop, though he seemingly hadn’t left his room at the Burrow in weeks.

Before she could spend too much energy on the matter, the kitchen door swung open again to produce Mrs. Weasley, dressed and ready for the day with an apron tied firmly around her middle. She jumped slightly at the sight of Hermione sitting at the table, teacup and saucer still in front of her.

“Oh, good morning dear, you’re up quite early. I was just about to start on breakfast, would you-” Mrs. Weasley had made her way over to the stove as she spoke, opening up the oven and halting her words as she did. “Oh, you didn’t have to clean up the plate, dear.”

Hermione shook her head, though Mrs. Weasley still had her back to her. “I didn’t,” she explained kindly, sending her own cup over to the sink to clean with a flick of her wand. “I found George scavenging for food last night and let him know you were saving him dinner. He was up this morning, too, you just missed him.”

Mrs. Weasley turned, and Hermione could see the shine in her eyes as she let out what seemed to be a cross between a hiccup and a sob. Awkwardly, Hermione stood, moving to the pantry to retrieve a loaf of bread.

“I’d love to help with breakfast, Mrs. Weasley.”

Molly nodded, giving Hermione a watery smile before coming over and patting her gently on the cheek.

Once breakfast preparations started, it wasn’t long before the rest of the family began trickling down. 

First was Percy, who apologized profusely and loudly to his mother as he grabbed a piece of fruit from the bowl on the table and went straight back out the door. The restabilization of the Ministry waited for no one, it seemed, not even Molly Weasley.

Next was Ginny, still bleary-eyed, her hair mused as she plopped down into a chair and yawned loudly, with Harry not far behind. Arthur came next, just in time to strategically let in just the owl carrying the Daily Prophet, skillfully edging out the other four that had accompanied it this time, likely all carrying some sort of interview request for the Boy Who Lived. Hermione turned to watch the racket as the skillet in front of her heated up.

“You’d think they’d get the bloody hint by now,” Ginny muttered, leaning back and putting her crossed ankles on the edge of the dining table.

“Ginerva,” Arthur said, not bothering to look up from the front page of the newspaper as he turned around.

“Sorry, dad.” Ginny put her feet back on the floor, and Harry laughed.

“Anything interesting, Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked curiously, edging towards him to try to catch a peek of the front page.

“Looks like they’ve announced the Hogwarts rebuild,” Mr. Weasley said, then handed the paper to Harry. “Here, I think I’ll skip the rest. Don’t think I’ll need to read another pregnancy rumor about my daughter for a good, long time.”

Harry reddened immediately, but took the paper from Mr. Weasley with a muttered thanks and went back to sit next to Ginny, who was howling with laughter. “Not funny, Gin.”

Ginny took a deep breath and pressed her lips together, clearly trying to control herself, but her bottom lip quivered with the effort and she burst out again. The sound echoed a bit in the small room, and Harry just looked at her warily. She patted his shoulder, finally taking deep breaths and managing to calm down. 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just... the Prophet caring that much about my sex life honestly is a dream come true.”

“Ginny!”

Hermione laughed at the pair, then turned back to the stove to focus on her task at hand: taking thick long strips of bacon and placing them on the skillet. The meat gave a happy crackle as they came into contact with the heat, and soon the room was filled with the smell of it. 

Hermione focused on keeping the strips from burning. She could have used magic to do it, but she still hadn’t quite mastered household spells the way Mrs. Weasley had, preferring to do most of her cooking the muggle way to avoid disaster. She was so focused, in fact, that she didn’t notice the door swing open a fifth and final time, only realizing Ron’s presence when he came up behind her and circled his arms around her waist, planting a kiss on the side of her head. Hermione jumped a bit, then tensed at the public display of intimate affection in front of his parents. She snuck a glance at Molly, who was pointedly watching a number of eggs crack themselves into a bowl.

“Morning,” he said, kissing her temple again and letting go with a grin, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. She shook her head a bit, as if trying to clear it physically, then smiled back.

“Morning to you, too,” she replied quietly, flipping over the bacon strips in an effort towards nonchalance. 

Soon, breakfast was ready and the Weasleys settled around the table, each helping themselves to large plates of the food. As usual, Ron and Harry were scarfing down their food at lightning speeds, much faster than the rest of the clan. Before Hermione had even finished her bacon, her boyfriend was reaching for seconds.

Boyfriend, she thought, because she wasn’t quite sure what else to call him. They hadn’t had a discussion about the nature of their relationship post-battle per say. Their first kiss was quick, driven by passion in the heat of a moment, and at the time Hermione had thrown reason out the door in favor of following her heart. While, of course, still promising herself to talk to him about it later. But then Fred was dead. So was Tonks and Lupin. And as they all fell into their own little spots of grief, and then Harry fell back into Ginny, and so Hermione fell into Ron. They kept kissing, and he held her hand, and all the fledgling little butterflies she had accumulated over years of seemingly unrequited pining returned, so she let it happen. And now it was over a month later, much too late for a proper conversation. She reckoned they just would never have one.

“So,” Harry finally said, taking a breath from the food in front of him. “Ron and I got owls from the ministry this morning, came to the bedroom window. Our auror training starts September 5th.”

“Oh, that’s so exciting!” Hermione said, hoping the falsity of her statement wasn’t given away in her voice. “Did they give you any details on where you’ll be going?”

After the war, Hermione was sure both of the boys would declare they were done with dark wizards. Of course, she underestimated their ability to be fascinated by a cool job title and some glory. Both Ron and Harry had spoken to Kingsley, who was happy to allow the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to take their honorary NEWTS, and they had both been hired on as aurors within the month. Like Hermione, though, they had worked out some time to decompress following the events of the past year, and were joining a new incoming class in the fall. They would have to attend training like every other new recruit, a notoriously brutal and strenuous thing, and would be forced to leave home to do it. All things considered, the entire thing seemed quite intense, and Hermione was happy to stay far far away from it for the foreseeable future.

Still, if it made both Ron and Harry happy to continue the effort of rounding up Voldemort’s followers, so be it. She knew the faster the straggler death eaters were put into Azkaban, the sooner she would feel safe enough to go retrieve her parents from Australia. Even more, she knew both boys had left Hogwarts unsure of what they wanted out of their future.

“Mo dey difint,” Ron tried to reply, his mouth full of bacon. Hermione and Ginny both raised an eyebrow at him and Molly opened her mouth, reprimand ready. He swallowed thickly before trying again. “No they didn’t. Just gave us a list of what to pack. Included loads of weird stuff on it. It all seems a bit mental, really. Why do they have to stick us in the middle of nowhere to see if we’re good wizards or not?”

“I think they took the idea from some muggle program,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “The millytaria or something.”

“The military,” Hermione corrected automatically. “The soldiers for external threats, yes. They have them go away for training so they have absolute focus.”

“Guess it can’t hurt,” Harry said. “Absolute focus. Constant vigilance. Basically, keep your head on straight if you don’t want a one-way ticket to beyond the veil.”

“Yeah, well, I just hope it’s not camping. I’ve had enough camping for a lifetime.”

“Trust us, Ron,” Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We know.”

The table laughed at that and Ron’s ears turned red. He let out a little cough.

“Very funny, guys.” He looked at Hermione, then. “Hey, the weather’s supposed to be alright today. Would you like to go on a picnic in the orchard with me?”

Hermione took a bite of toast and hummed. “I really wanted to finish  _ Advanced Charms  _ today so I can start on my Ancient Runes book.”

“Bring it with you.”

“Alright, then.”

Ginny took the opportunity to look at Harry and smack him on the arm. “You never take me on romantic picnics!”

Harry looked at her warily. “Do you want to go on a romantic picnic?”

“Well not now I don’t when my brother’s gone and thought of it first.”

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

The flirty wink Ginny gave Harry elicited a groan from Ron and a swat from Mrs. Weasley, who was quick to chastise her daughter for talking about such things at the breakfast table. Harry, caught between the two, gave Hermione a pleading look, which she answered with a laugh and a shrug. Mr. Weasley seemed to have lost his ability to hear at some point in the conversation, his eyes now trained back on the Daily Prophet that Harry had abandoned.

* * *

Ron had been correct. With the afternoon came a bright, sunny, cloudless sky, perfect for a picnic. Hermione had been holed up in Ginny’s room for the majority of the morning, making the most of what was left of her leisure time to make some more progress in  _ Advanced Charms.  _ The other three spent the morning outdoors, the boys helping Ginny train for her upcoming final Quidditch season. Hogwarts letters had not arrived yet, but they were all sure Ginny would receive the position as captain. 

Hermione could hear their laughter floating through the house’s open windows as she ventured out of the room in the early part of the afternoon, dressed in her most comfortable muggle clothes, to find Ron. She found Mrs. Weasley instead, bustling around the living room tidying up and fluffing pillows.

“Hermione, dear,” she said without turning around. “Your picnic basket is on the table in the kitchen, would you be a dear and grab it on your way out?”

“Of course, Mrs. Weasley, thank you.”

Hermione went into the kitchen and grabbed the basket, which was heavier than she had imagined it would be and required two hands. Balancing her wand and textbook on top of the wicker top, she made her way out of the house and into the garden.

By the time she had reached the makeshift Quidditch pitch, her arms hurt, and she was cursing herself for not using a levitating charm to bring the basket out. Huffing a bit, she managed to get to the edge of the field when Ron spotted her from his spot at the goalposts.

“Hermione!” he exclaimed with a grin just as Ginny lobbed the quaffle toward the rings, scoring a point on him.

“I think that means I win,” she said proudly, and Ron scowled at her before descending from the air. Ginny and Harry both followed.

“No one was scoring against you! And I was distracted!”

“Yes, but I still think I won, and so does Harry, don’t you?”

She looked up at Harry expectantly, who grimaced as he looked between the two of them.

“Er, yeah, yeah you did, Gin, great job.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at his best friend as Ginny kissed him on the cheek as thanks, but before Ron could say anything Hermione dropped the basket on the ground, picked up her wand in one hand, and grabbed his hand with the other.

“Alright, enough bickering from the three of you. We have a picnic to enjoy,” she said, levitating the basket now.

Ron gave her a brilliant smile that she matched and gripped her hand more tightly in his own. “She’s right, you two have fun...” he trailed off, as if realizing what he was saying. “But not  _ too much  _ fun! Keep your pants on.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother and pulled at Harry’s shoulder, who had closed his eyes and winced. “Come on, Harry. Let’s play a couple more rounds.”

Harry nodded, and the couple took off back into the air as Ron led Hermione down a path and towards the orchard. Hermione squeezed his hand and leaned into his side.

“You know,” she said, carefully guiding the picnic basket and her textbook with her wand as they walked, “you really shouldn’t be commenting on their private affairs, Ron.”

“Oh, come one, I’m just taking the mickey out of them. It’s not like they’re shagging- I don’t think anyone could, really, with Mum watching us all like a hawk.”

Hermione murmured noncommittally at that. Of course,  _ she  _ knew that Harry and Ginny had progressed past snogging while they were all still at Hogwarts. Ginny had burst into the sixth year girl’s dorms, locked the door, and told Hermione all about it the day after it happened, despite Hermione’s protests about Harry being like her brother.

Not that she would ever correct Ron in his assumptions. She didn’t wish for total nuclear fallout in the Weasley family.

“Anyway,” he continued cheerfully, not noticing Hermione’s lack of response. “Harry knows if he ever knocked up my sister or I found them in a compromising situation, I’d hex him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at this. They had come upon the orchard now, and Ron slowed down looking for a nice tree to make camp underneath. They both stopped at the same one, and Hermione put the basket down on the ground and grabbed her book from the top. Ron opened up the lid and pulled out a blanket, which Hermione helped him set down, and some sandwiches and fruit, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.

The two got comfortable on the blanket and ate in companionable silence for a while, neither really feeling the need to break it with conversation as they ate their lunch. Once the sandwiches were finished, Ron pulled out a couple of butterbeers and some pumpkin pasties, handing one of each to Hermione. She took them gratefully and leaned against the tree, her knees bent to make a pillow for Ron. He leaned against her, taking a drink from his butterbeer.

“I’m nervous, Hermione,” he finally said, leaning his head back to rest on her knees. “About auror training.”

“Why?” she asked.

Ron stayed silent for a few moments. He started picking at the label of his drink with his nail, dragging it across the paper and causing it to tear. Hermione waited patiently, her hand coming up to his head to drag her fingers through his hair. He made a noise of pleasure in the back of his throat, then opened his eyes to look at her.

“What if I’m not good enough for it?”

Hermione sighed deeply, her fingers still moving through his locks. “Ronald, you are much more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

“I guess,” he said, not sounding sure.

“You are,” she said firmly, her hands stopping now. “And the only thing that’s going to stop you from doing this is yourself. So you need to go in ready to work hard and do well, and you will.”

Ron hummed, then abruptly sat up and turned towards her.

“You’re right,” he said, suddenly bright. “And the best part is once I pass, I’ll come back, and we’ll get to move to London together in our very own flat near the Ministry, explore the city. It’ll be wicked.”

It took Hermione much more effort than it should have to keep her eyes from going wide. She hadn’t even begun to think about what her living arrangement would be over the next year, and frankly living with Ron likely wouldn’t have been on her list. Their fledgling relationship seemed too fragile to test with something that big, and part of her wanted independence. She had never lived on her own before, and this seemed like the time to do it. Plus, she was much too practical to move in with a boyfriend at 18 fresh out of school. What if they broke up? What if their plans changed? They were too young to be making plans around one another like this.

Still, Ron’s enthusiasm was palpable. Hermione could see the home and anticipation shining in his face, so she mustered a smile. 

“That would be lovely, Ron.”

He nodded, overlooking the moments she was lost in thought, and leaned in to kiss her.

* * *

Hermione and Ron had stayed out in the orchard until dinner. Luckily, no more talk of future plans arose. Instead, they talked about everything else. Ron’s time with Bill and Fleur, Hermione’s childhood fear of the tooth fairy, Ron’s favorite way to tell the tale of Babbity Rabbity. They stayed like that, swapping stories and laughing together, until the sun went down and they both decided it was time to depart.

Dinner went by in a blur. Hermione was tired from her early morning, and she ate quickly without much fuss. After her plate was clear, she stood, the first at the table to be done.

“Thank you so much for dinner, Mrs. Weasley,” she said, smiling at Molly. Then, she turned to Ron. “I’m completely knackered. I’m going to head off to bed.”

He nodded at her, and she kissed his cheek before trudging up to Ginny’s room. She changed into her pajamas quickly, wanting to be asleep as soon as possible. When she was finished, she threw herself onto her bed without looking and was rewarded with a book being shoved into her side.

“What?” she murmured to herself, hopping off the mattress and looking to inspect it. On top of her rumpled comforter lay a book, leather bound and ancient looking, with gold leaf script reading  _ Magicke of the Minde  _ on the front. She picked up the tome and found it was heavy, at least double the size of her  _ Advanced Charms  _ book, and had a piece of parchment sticking out the front cover. She put the book on her bedside table and plucked out the parchment, which she found covered in a vaguely familiar scrawl, holding it close to the lamp to read it.

_ Hermione-- _

_ This was Fred’s. He found it useful when we were researching how to make the daydream charms work, thought maybe it would have something useful for you in it too.  _

_ -G _

_ PS. Thanks for talking to me like a person today _

Hermione had to read it twice to realize what it meant. George had brought her a book from his and Fred’s personal library. To help with her parents. And he had thanked her. Her chest warmed and she felt a smile spread to her face, almost of its own accord. She tucked the scrap of paper back into the front cover of the book and laid back down, extinguishing the lamp with her wand. Yes, this was very curious indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update it in a week, she said. It will be fine, she said. Famous last words.  
> I hope this update is worth the wait! I've been struggling with making sure everyone feels very in-character, so if you see any problems with characterization let me know! If you enjoy, I would really appreciate a comment! <3 HOPEFULLY, I will have a new chapter up next week!


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.

“Filthy little mudblood, poking around in my vault! How did you get past the goblins? How did you do it? MUDBLOOD!!!”

Bellatrix’s breath was hot and sour in Hermione’s face, her eyes wild and hair splayed out around her. A chill ran through the young girl’s body as she struggled to get away from the piercing gaze. Tears ran down her face, though she was only barely aware of them. She was much too focused on the way her heart clenched in her chest, the anxiety making her stomach ill. The Malfoy mansion was dark, lit only by a few small candles, but Hermione tried to train her eyes away from her torturer to the opulent ceiling. She wasn’t successful for long. The cursed blade seared against her skin as Bellatrix made another long cut. 

“Too scared to look me in the eyes, mudblood? I’ll kill you, you stupid bitch. I’ll kill you and make your friends listen.” 

Hermione closed her eyes, anticipating what was next, but the cruciatus curse never came. Once it was clear she would not be experiencing the mind-numbing pain that accompanied it, she wrenched her eyes open. Now, instead of Bellatrix above her, it was Ron, smiling sweetly. She whipped her head around, taking in the grass and shady trees now surrounding her. She looked up, unable to keep the horror from her face as Ron leaned in and kissed her forehead.

“Forever, Hermione. This is forever.”

The quick change in scene was too much, and Hermione suddenly felt sick. Stomach rolling, she screwed her eyes shut again and rolled over, trying to keep herself from being sick. 

“Hermione. Hermione. Hermione!”

She opened her eyes again and this time found herself on her small twin bed in Ginny’s room, brow slick with sweat, a pair of redheads staring at her curiously. She took a few experimental deep breaths, her hand unconsciously going to her forearm, where her blood status was etched in what seemed to be a permanent manner into her flesh. She rubbed the scar there and tried to ground herself.

“Hermione.” This was Ron’s voice. She could tell, now, that this was the voice that had woken her up. “Are you okay?”

She nodded blankly, looking around to take in more of the scene around her. There was no light coming in through the window, no voices carrying through the house. It must be late, or early, depending on your vantage point. Ron and Ginny’s eyes were both bloodshot, and as Hermione slowly started to sit up in her bed, she watched Ron’s eyes squint with concern.

“I’m... I’m alright, I think,” she muttered. “Bad dream.”

“I’ll say,” Ginny replied, stifling a yawn with her hand. “I’m shocked mum and dad didn’t hear you screaming.”

“I was screaming?” she asked, voice small. Ron had sat on the bed by her knees, and he took her hand in his own now. She clutched at it.

“Like you were being murdered,” Ginny said flatly. She looked from Hermione to her brother, the gears in her head clearly turning. After a moment of silence, she sighed. “Right, I guess I’ll be sleeping in your room for the rest of the night, Ron.”

Ron looked at her like he had been confunded, and while Hermione would have usually laughed at the expression, she was still too shaken from her dream. Ginny just stared back at him.

“Merlin, you are as daft as you look. You stay here with Hermione, I’m going to go slip in with Harry. Let’s just not get caught by mum, alright? I’m sure she’d be researching chastity spells the minute she found out.”

Ron nodded, then turned to look at Hermione, his face now creased with concern. Ginny slipped out of the room, her practiced feet missing every squeaky board on her way out. The doorknob shut with a quiet click, and then Ron and Hermione were alone.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ron asked, reaching out to brush her hair, slick with the sweat of her forehead, out of her face.

Hermione nodded and bit her lip, then she scooted over toward the wall, leaving enough room for Ron to fit in the bed. She tugged at the blankets and he stood up to help her pull them down. He crawled into the small bed and pulled her to his chest, and she let herself be cradled by him. His lips found the top of her head and she sighed. This was better than being alone, but she wished she had the energy to spell the cramped mattress into something bigger.

“You haven’t had one this bad in a while,” he whispered, his hand running up and down her arm in a comforting sort of way. Hermione shook her head.

“No,” she said truthfully, “I have, they just haven’t woken anyone up in a while.” She sighed, readjusting her position slightly so she could peer backwards a bit at him. “Honestly, I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet. Can we just sleep? We’ve got a long day tomorrow I’m sure.”

In a rare display of wisdom, Ron nodded, and Hermione could feel the movement in her hair. He moved his hand to grip around her waist and she took a deep breath, settling in. His breath quickly changed, becoming slow and deep within minutes, but Hermione’s mind still reeled with the dream she had just encountered. She felt an unpleasant tingle all over, like her body was replaying a pale ghost of the cruciatus curse, and the discomfort made her want to flip and wrestle in her sheets, though she couldn’t do that with Ron still holding her body tightly to his own. So, she stayed still, counting Ron’s breaths until she finally drifted into a restless sleep once more.

* * *

Luckily, the four teens managed to avoid the wrath of Mrs. Weasley with a little foresight from Ginny in the morning. She snuck back into her own room just after dawn and prodded Ron awake. Hermione, who’s sleep had been shallow at best, woke at the slight creak of the door, but Ron was startled and nearly fell out of the small bed.

“Get back up to your room, mum and dad’ll be awake soon.”

He groaned and managed to get his feet under him. Hermione kept her eyes closed, hoping to stave off some concern by pretending to be asleep still.

“Thanks, Gin,” Ron muttered, shuffling out of the room and back up the stairs, not nearly as quiet as his sister had been the night before.

Hermione could feel Ginny’s eyes on the back of her head, but she kept her breathing even, and eventually heard the boxsprings of the other girl’s mattress squeak as Ginny got back into her own bed. 

The morning passed slowly for Hermione, still flitting in and out of sleep until she heard the familiar call of Mrs. Weasley informing her children that breakfast was ready. She and Ginny both got out of bed and dressed quickly before heading downstairs to join the family for breakfast.

Harry, Ron and Percy were all already at the table, eating and talking to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about their plans for helping at Hogwarts. It was just four days after Percy had announced that Kingsley wanted their help with the Hogwarts rebuild. The days had passed relatively quickly in the excitement of the news. They knew very little about what to expect once they arrived back at Hogwarts, only that nothing had been done after the initial clean-up after the battle to allow for the memorial to take place.

“Big day it is, the start of the rebuild!” Mr. Weasley was saying to Harry as they both worked on their breakfasts. Harry nodded, his mouth full of food, and Ginny took her place next to him at the table. Hermione sat across from her, next to Ron, and started loading up her plate. Ron grinned and put an arm across her shoulder, which Hermione leaned in to before beginning to eat.

“Wish I could be there myself, but it seems with the threat of You-Know-Who gone you’d think the counterfeit defensive spells would disappear but,” Mr. Weasley continued to the group, “folks are still scared silly that it’s not really over. Can’t blame them, really. Still doesn’t seem quite real, does it?”

The table nodded solemnly, and Percy sniffed.

“Luckily, we know it’s very much real. Now you all know how to access the Hogwarts apparition points, correct? I have to be off soon and I won’t be able to help you get there the first time.”

Ron laughed and nodded. “We’re not likely to forget where Hagrid’s hut was, are we, Perce?”

Percy gave a small smile. “No, I suppose not, well I’ll see you when you arrive then.”

With that, he stood from the table, sent his plate to the sink with his wand, and left out the kitchen towards the door. 

“Hermione, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said after her son left the room. She had finally joined the family at the table and was sipping her cup of tea. “Was your bed quite comfortable last night? I know how cramped those old things can get.”

Hermione nearly choked on her toast and she had to reach for a glass of water to help get the bite down her throat.

“Erm, yes, Mrs. Weasley. Quite comfortable,” she said, pointedly not looking at Ron beside her, who’s ears had gone bright red. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh no reason, dear,” Mrs. Weasley replied with a wink. She leaned over and patted Hermione’s cheek. “Just wanted to make sure.”

Suddenly, everyone at the table was very interested in the food in front of them. Hermione and Ginny both seemed to have lost their appetites, however, and just pushed the food around as the boys began shoving food into their mouths at a speed Hermione thought was previously unseen. Soon, their plates were cleared and they muttered goodbyes to Molly and Arthur as they set off for the garden.

“Oh, that was so embarrassing!” Hermione complained as soon as she thought they were out of earshot of the house. Her cheeks were pink from the confrontation. “I’ll never be able to look your mother in the eye again.”

“At least she didn’t hex us,” Harry said quietly, his eyes trained forward as if he could leave the embarrassing moment behind with enough concentration.

“I almost would have preferred that.”

“Oh, come off it you two,” Ginny said, laughing and taking Harry’s hand in her own. “That was great. Now we know that mum is well aware that we’re all adults making our own choices! That was probably the best result we could have hoped for.”

“You’re not an adult, Gin,” Ron said. He placed his hand on the small of Hermione’s back, placing a bit of pressure there to lead her. She narrowed her eyes and reached back, taking his hand in hers instead.

“I’m as good as, Ron, thanks,” Ginny said, glaring at her brother. “Anyway, I think that was a confirmation that they won’t be making a big fuss about that in the future.”

Hermione just shook her head, grateful that they were finally outside the home’s wards. 

“Alright, see you all at Hagrid’s,” she said. Then she turned on her heel and disappeared.

* * *

Despite having apparated and disapparated many times over the course of the last year, the feeling of being shoved into a very small tube still made her a bit nauseous at the end. The long distance between the Weasley residence and the Hogwarts grounds didn’t help, either, so when she finally arrived back on solid ground, she stumbled a bit. It was strange, seeing the familiar garden patch relatively intact, sitting next to the place Hagrid’s hut had once been.

Three consecutive pops alerted her to the presence of her friends, and once they were all there they started up towards the castle. They made it to the Great Hall relatively quickly, no one really bothering with conversation as they crossed the grounds and entered the main part of the castle. Once they were inside, all four were shocked into silence.

Hermione hadn’t been so naive to imagine the pain of the battle would have subsided. No, she knew that being back in this space would rummage up the memories, still fresh in her mind. Still, the addition of last night’s terror made her fear all the more palpable. The crumbling walls, the broken tables, the place where Fred and Tonks and Lupin had lay. It felt like the air had been sucked violently out of her chest. She attempted a deep breath, but could only accomplish a shallow one. And another. And another.

Ginny looked back, concerned when she heard Hermione’s shallow breathing. She began to reach out her hand, but a booming voice stopped the movement.

“Harry! Ron! Hermione! Ginny! Ye made it!” 

They all looked toward the source of the voice and smiles broke out across Harry and Ron’s faces as Hagrid made his way towards them. 

“I dunno if I can tell yeh how good it is to see you lot!” He said, going to bring them all into a group hug. Hermione took the moment to calm down her breathing, and by the time he let go she could take slow, even breaths again.

“Now,” Hagrid said, looking over their heads and across the hall. “I see Professor McGonagall comin’ over here. She’s lettin’ me give you all a special assignment, off the books of course.” He gave them an over-exaggerated wink. “But I’ll let her greet ya before I explain it.”

Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was at their group in a few seconds. “Mr. Potter, Ms. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger,” she said, and though her words carried her normal formal intonation, there was a fondness in her tone that made Hermione’s heart lighten immediately. “I am grateful to see you four here.”

They all gave her a large grin, though Hermione was sure Harry’s was the biggest. “We’re grateful to see you too, Professor,” he said.

“You may call me Minerva now, Potter, Godric knows you deserve it,” she replied with a small smile of her own. “I’m unsure how much Hagrid has told you-”

“Nearly nothing,” Hagrid cut in.

“Right. Well, he has a special task for you all that I am, under no circumstances, to know is happening.” She had a glint of mischief in her eyes, which just fed Hermione’s curiosity about their task. “But, I wanted to say hello and make sure you were all comfortable here. Well, as comfortable as the circumstances may allow.”

Hermione nodded, but before anyone else could say anything Ginny jumped in.

“We’re quite comfortable, Professor, but I’m glad you came by. I was wondering,” she gave her a sweet smile, “when I’d be receiving my letter confirming that I’d be receiving the quidditch captain position this year.”

Professor McGonagall looked at her for a beat, then fell into a laugh. It was disarming, almost, to see the usually-composed witch be caught so off guard.

“Yes, Ms. Weasley, I guess I should have anticipated you would be wanting that soon. I must apologize for the delay. Of course, this year we have many extenuating circumstances to consider. Professor Flitwick has been promoted to Deputy Headmaster as I have been given the Headmistress position, as I’m sure you all have heard.” They nodded. “Well, even with his help finding new professors has been quite a challenge. We’ve had to throw all of our resources at that. We managed to find permanent placements for the Muggle Studies and Transfiguration positions, but we are having a hard time with Defence Against the Dark Arts yet again. Seems no one is quite sure that the curse on the position has truly passed. It looks like we’ll be getting a temporary substitute from Ilvermony in the States but, of course, their usual professor is looking to take a sabbatical next term, so we’ll be back at square one again.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Regardless, that has taken up much of mine and Filius’s time so we’ve yet to send out letters. You can expect yours towards the end of July, Ms. Weasley.”

“So I will be getting the captain position then?” Ginny asked

Professor McGonagall looked at her warily. “Ms. Weasley, did you ever doubt that?”

“No.” She smiled, satisfied with the response.

“Well then you have your answer,” Professor McGonagall said. She looked up at Hagrid. “I’ll leave you to it, please do remind them to be careful, will you?”

Hagrid nodded and Professor McGonagall walked back the way she came.

“Alrigh’ you lot,” Hagrid said. “I have one importan’ question- Harry, do ya still have that map?”

It turned out quite a few people were upset about the Carrow’s decision to seal up all of the hidden entrances around Hogwarts. While no professor would outright admit knowledge of their existence, they all seemed to agree that Hogwarts  _ quirks  _ were all part of the founders’ intentions and should be left as designed, with the exception, perhaps, of Slytherin’s chamber, which a number of experienced witches and wizards were working on either sealing up or destroying. So, Hagrid explained, it only made sense that the group with the best tool to find the entrances would be the ones sent to fix them.

“McGonagall was righ’, though. We dunno what those Carrow people did to seal them up. Might be some nasty stuff waitin’ for ya, so be safe about it.”

With that, Hagrid was off to help move some of the crumbling stones in the hall, and the four teenagers were off to the first secret passageway.

Hagrid was right to warn them, it seemed. The Carrows, for all their faults, knew what they were doing when they sealed them up. The group started at the statue of the one-eyed witch, thinking that the small passage couldn’t give them too much trouble. However, when Harry tapped the hump with his wand and whispered “Dissendium,” the statue took its staff and attempted to knock Harry over the head. He avoided a concussion with a quick shield spell from Ron, but when the statue was unsuccessful it walked off its post and began chasing Harry down the corridor. The other three chased after them, and after a few failed attempts Hermione managed to cast an Immobulus charm strong enough to stop it. 

It was lunch before they figured out what was wrong with the statue- a strong charm that caused it to attack back if a spell was cast in its presence- and they didn’t have time to fix the issue before they had to head back to the Great Hall for lunch. It was a tiring morning, and they were starting to see just how difficult the task was going to be.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, they were greeted with plates and plates of food spread about the house tables. It was like a feast day, and while Hermione felt a pang of nostalgia at the sight of it, she also had a sinking feeling about the origin of the meal.

“Do you think they’re still using house elves?” She whispered to Ron as they took a seat at the Gryffindor table, more out of habit than anything else. She could see a few Gryffindors she recognized sitting at the Slytherin table and fleetingly wondered if they were doing so out of spite.

“Yeah, I reckon. Wouldn’t want to send them off into the streets would they?”

“Oh, that makes me so mad,” Hermione said, taking some food off the plates in front of her. “They could at least pay them.”

“Hermione, we’ve been over this before. They don’t want to be paid.”

“And we’ve been over this before, Ronald, they don’t know any better!” she snapped. Then, she took a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be cross. Today has been harder than I thought it would be.”

Ron nodded, looking down at his own food, but didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure if it was out of anger or self-preservation, but regardless she let it go, not wanting to incite another fight. The foursome gobbled down some food, moving back to the third floor after lunch to continue their fight with the one-eyed witch. 

After quite a bit of spellwork, and a few conjured books from the library, Hermione was finally able to figure out a way to break the charm on the witch, returning her to her post. They tried the spell to open the passageway again, and this time the hump slid open, only to produce a thick, black and foul-smelling sludge that sprayed in the air and coated all four of them. They gagged and quickly tried to vanish the offending substance off of each other to no avail.

“Looks like they took a page out of the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes handbook,” Harry said darkly, swiping at the goo on his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of the twins’ products that they bastardized.”

“Honestly you might be right,” Ginny spat bitterly. “They were always confiscating the few products we dared bring in, and I’m pretty sure the death eaters ransacked the shop once Fred and George-” her voice cracked a bit at the mention of Fred, but she carried on, “-went into hiding.”

“Blimey, wish George was here. He’d probably have some idea if they’d stolen some of their in-process products or whatever,” Ron said.

Hermione paused her attempts at finding a spell to remove the sludge. “Actually, Ron, that’s sort of brilliant. We should ask George to come tomorrow and help.”

Ron gave her a look, then exchanged glances with Ginny and Harry.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Hermione,” he said gently.

“Why not?”

“Well,” Ginny said. “He’s still not well, we shouldn’t be pushing him.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her. “Not well? You’re acting as if he’s addled. He’s grieving, not sick. And we keep acting as if he’s died, too!”

Ginny and Ron both winced, and Harry coughed uncomfortably. Hermione sighed.

“Maybe that was unfair,” she admitted. “But I don’t think asking him to help would hurt. I’ll do it after dinner if you’re all too afraid.”

The other three exchanged another look that Hermione ignored, pretending to try to wipe the goo off her robes, but no one argued.

* * *

The sludge, they found out, was only washable the muggle way. When they realized it was impossible to charm it away, they each nipped into a nearby bathroom to scrub what they could off their clothes and bodies. Hermione assumed it was the Carrow’s way of making sure whoever was trying to sneak out of the castle was caught, and the others agreed that had to be the case. They worked on the passage slowly after that, disarming at least a dozen booby traps before the sun went down on the horizon.

By the time they were back at the Burrow for dinner, they were sticky, smelly, and thoroughly discouraged by their lack of real progress on their task. They each washed up quickly, showering the remainder of the sludge away, then came down to join the family dinner. Charlie was visiting from Romania to consult with Hagrid about the animals in the Forbidden Forest, so dinner seemed more lively than normal, with new stories being shared about the new species of dragon Charlie was trying to help breed back home. Hermione was extra grateful for him, as the excitement of his visit took the attention wholly off the discussion from that morning.

Once dinner was over and the boys and Ginny retreated to the living room to hear more about Charlie’s latest adventures, Hermione hung around again to help Mrs. Weasley clean up.

“If you give me George’s plate, I’ll take it up to him,” she told Mrs. Weasley softly, flicking her wand to make the washed plates dry and fly to their place in the cupboard. Mrs. Weasley looked up from the plate she was arranging, fixing Hermione with a questioning look. 

“Take it up to him?” she asked simply. 

Hermione nodded in acknowledgment. “I know he wouldn’t take the plates at first, but... I don’t know, something tells me he’ll oblige me tonight if I bring it up.” 

She didn’t feel like explaining the complexities of their last two conversations and his note, but Hermione did wager that he would let her in if she sought him out tonight. Mrs. Weasley studied her again, then relented, handing her the plate.

“If he doesn’t answer just bring it back down here. I’ve already placed the warming charm on it.”

“Alright, Mrs. Weasley.”

Hermione made her way up the stairs, plate in hand, and stopped in front of the twins’ old bedroom. She couldn’t hear much through the thick, wood door that stood in her way, but that didn’t surprise her much. She rapped on the door three times and waited. When no response came, she tried again, this time saying, “George, it’s Hermione. I’ve got your dinner here, thought I’d save you the midnight trip.”

She waited a beat, and when she didn’t hear any movement from the other side of the door she sighed. Maybe she had been wrong. She turned away, making her way slowly down the hall when she heard the door squeak behind her. She turned back around to find George’s head poking out of the doorframe, his eyes still tired. 

“What is it?” he asked, looking at the plate in her hand.

“Roast and vegetables,” she replied simply, holding the plate out to him. “It was quite delicious.”

George looked at the plate then looked at her face. She could see the way his head was whirring just by his eyes, distant and calculating. Finally, he opened the door a bit more and retreated back into the room.

Hermione took this as an invitation. She took the few steps back across the hall and pushed open the door of his room, cautiously stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

It was cleaner than she had anticipated, if not a bit stale in smell. She noted the beds, one neatly-made and the other crumpled with use. Not much else in the room had been touched it seemed. 

George had thrown himself into the chair at the small desk between the beds, his back towards her. Hermione made a quick judgment call and sat at the head of the disheveled bed, placing the plate on the desk in front of him.

“Thanks,” he muttered. He stared out the window in front of him and Hermione watched him for a second before sighing.

“You’re welcome, but I must admit I’m not just here to charitably give you dinner.”

He turned to look at her and smirked, “You’re not, huh?”

“No, though I don’t mind bringing it up if it’ll get you to stop masquerading as an inferi.”

“An inferi? You couldn’t think of a better comparison?”

“Well, no, I had a number of better ones but they’re all muggle references and you wouldn’t understand.”

Hermione shrugged and George let the ghost of a smile grace his lips again.

“So, what is it you’ve come to ask me, Hermione? Are you going to beg me to... I don’t know... join a study group with you or something?”

Hermione snorted indelicately. “Not likely. No, I’m not sure if you were aware, but we started the Hogwarts rebuild today and... well, we’ve been tasked with fixing what the Carrows did to the secret passageways. We think they might have stolen and modified some of your products to booby trap them and, well, we thought you might be of some help if you were up to it.”

“Oh,” George’s face fell a bit and he stared down at his plate. “I dunno, Hermione. I dunno if I’m... able... to go back just yet.”

“Alright,” she responded, pretending to be thoroughly nonplussed by this response. “Well, the offer stands if you get bored of... I dunno, whatever it is you’re doing during the day at your old flat.”

He turned to look at her again, a curious look in his eyes. “How’d you figure?”

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, George.”

She stood and made for the door, then turned back to look at him one last time before exiting. She found his eyes on her.

“I know you’re not ready yet, and you should take your time, but they do all miss you terribly.” George nodded, almost unnoticeably. “Would you like me to bring you dinner tomorrow as well?”

His eyes held hers steadily and she resisted the urge to look away under his careful analysis. After a beat, he nodded again, the movement curt and intentional this time.

“Right, well. Goodnight, George.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

With that, she headed back down to the living room and took a place next to Ron on the floor. She leaned her head against his shoulder, tuning in to their conversation.

“Any luck?” he whispered in her ear during a lull, and Hermione shook her head in response. “Ah, well, couldn’t expect much better I guess. You want to head to bed soon?”

Hermione nodded this time, stifling a yawn in his shoulder. She was so exhausted, she hoped she would be granted a dreamless sleep that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did it folks! I managed to update in a week. I hope you're enjoying the story so far!
> 
> Question- do you guys like the long chapters, or do you wish they were shorter and more frequent? I could probably figure out a way to update twice a week if I shortened the chapters, but I'd have to rework my storyboard. Let me know!
> 
> Also- I re-read the first chapter and realized I talked about Bellatrix burning down the burrow which ONLY happened in the movies. So I guess you can revoke my fan card now. That's all.
> 
> See you all next week!


	4. Inevitabilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes, when they both woke in the early hours of the morning, she would see fire in his eyes. She was sure he would duel the nightmares if he could."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: scenes and conversations of a sexual nature

June faded into July faster than anyone could have seen coming, with the foursome working Monday through Friday on clearing out Hogwarts secret passages. While it was slow-going at first, they finished early in the month and were left to enjoy the remainder of their final adolescent summer. However, with Ginny training for the quidditch season, Ron and Harry flitting back and forth between home and the Ministry for pre-training meetings, and Hermione studying for her NEWTs, the last week of July happened upon the Burrow with haste.

Harry claimed, of course, that he didn’t want his birthday that year to be a big deal. It seemed too soon, really, to celebrate anything fully. Still, Mrs. Weasley couldn’t let a birthday go by without some kind of to-do. So, they ended up gathered on the lawn at the Burrow: the Weasley’s (including Charlie, who was still in England), Andromeda and Teddy, Hagrid, Neville, and Luna. Harry had complained privately to Hermione and Ron in the week leading up to the event about the trouble Mrs. Weasley was going to, but as Hermione sipped on firewhiskey and watched him cradle Teddy lovingly in his arms, she knew he was just fine with the final arrangement.

Despite the small crowd, it seemed to be no small affair. They dragged out two long tables and placed them in the garden, a strange callback to the year before. Dinner was, as always, delicious, some of Mrs. Weasley’s best. The sun had gone down hours ago, but everyone was comfortably lit in the glow of some candles Hermione had enchanted to float above the lawn as a small callback to the Hogwarts feasts. A small wireless was situated near the lawn, a muggle station playing the latest songs at Harry’s request (though Hermione suspected the request was borne solely out of his desire to not have to listen to Celestina Warbeck  _ again. _ )

The group seemed to be treating the night as their unofficial celebration of the end of the war. Enough time had passed between their wounds and the present day that they could breathe a little easier and celebrate being alive.

That is, they could do that if they ignored all of the symptoms. Hermione, for one, felt as if she had not had a good night’s rest since mid-June, when she happened upon George in the pantry after falling asleep on the sofa. Their new sleeping arrangements had been helpful, of course, with Harry now fairly permanently situated in Ginny’s room and she in Ron’s. Ron had easily gotten into the habit of soothing her whenever she would jolt awake in terror (that is, if he woke up, which was at least more than half the time). Still, the lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll and she knew it. 

“Is it odd that I find you more attractive when you drink?”

Ron took a seat next to her at the table, and she gave him a small smile.

“No more odd than me kissing you for suggesting we protect the house elves.”

He laughed at that and took a drink of his own glass, filled with what looked like elf-made wine. “Feels off, doesn’t it? Like it’s been much longer than a year since we celebrated his last one.”

Hermione nodded, watching over the crowd. Everyone had shifted into their own groups- Luna was talking to Hagrid about her and her father’s summer vacation searching for another creature no one had heard of, Neville had joined Harry and Ginny in playing with Teddy, Andromeda was chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Bill and Fleur were catching up with Charlie. 

“We’ve lost so many people,” she said sadly. “It feels like a nightmare. Like I’ll wake up tomorrow and your mum will be fixing a snitch cake for his 17th.”

The focus of her vision left her and she found herself staring into nothingness as the reality of that statement washed over her. She hadn’t even realized she felt that way until the words were out of her mouth. If Ron replied she didn’t hear it. She turned her head back toward the Burrow, dark except for a light in a window on the second floor, shrouded by curtains. She thought she saw the fabric twitch as she gazed at the light, but figured it was likely her imagination conjuring what she wished would happen.

She and George had kept their arrangement. She would bring him dinner each night, sitting under a warming charm from Mrs. Weasley, and they would talk about nothing for a few minutes before she retreated back downstairs. While it was nothing substantial, it served to make her heart ache for the way he was hurting. She wished he would face his family, but understood why he couldn’t. She could barely face them some days, and she wasn’t a walking reminder of the son and brother they all lost.

She focused back on her glass at that thought, downing the remaining firewhiskey in one large gulp. The liquid burned as it went down, and she cleared her throat after she swallowed it.

“Merlin, Hermione, are you alright?” Ron asked, now staring at her intently.

He was being so... Ron. Attentive and caring to the point of being overbearing at times, though she guessed he got that from his mother. Since he realized the extent of her nightmares, he rarely left her side, always checking on her with a hand or an eye. Sometimes, when they both woke in the early hours of the morning, she would see fire in his eyes. She was sure he would duel the nightmares if he could.

“Yes, I’m okay,” she finally said. She watched him let out a breath she hadn’t realized he was holding. “Just thinking about... everything.”

“Everything,” he repeated. “That’s a lot. Dunno if I have the mental capacity for that.”

“You’ve forgotten,” she said with a bit of humor in her voice. “I’m Hermione Granger. I have the mental capacity for many things.”

He snorted and she looked up with a smile and they locked eyes.

“Let’s go on a walk?”

He stood and held out his hand, which she took. He helped her to her feet and then laced his fingers through hers. She felt a bit light on her feet, the small buzz from the liquor starting to kick in, and the sensation made her smile a bit. Ron led them through the garden, waving to their friends as they passed, and into the orchard, his hand firm and warm around hers. She sighed and leaned her head on his bicep as they walked in silence.

“Ron,” she said suddenly, pulling them to a stop in the middle of the trees. He looked down at her, raising an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

“Er--” He raised his free hand and scratched the back of his neck with it. “You’re welcome? Though I must admit I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re thanking me for.”

“For everything.”

“Everything?” He took a few steps back and leaned against a nearby trunk, a grin plastered on his face. “You look like Hermione, sure, but now I’m not so certain. The Hermione I know would never give up a chance to over-explain something twice in one night. What did you tell me when I said I wished Crookshanks was with us during the battle?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ronald, I’m trying to be serious here!”

He just looked at her, eyebrows raised now, which only made her sigh. “I said, ‘Are you a wizard or not?’”

His grin widened. “Good, you can continue.”

Hermione frowned a bit. “What I was  _ trying  _ to say was that I’m grateful for you, you prat.” She stepped to him and shoved him in the chest a bit. “You’ve been really good to me the last three months and I... I just really appreciate it.”

She looked up to meet his eyes and found them sincere; his grin was now a small, grateful smile. She took a deep breath and continued, keeping her hands where they fell on his chest.

“I’ve been a complete mess, it feels like. Worse than I’ve ever been, and you’ve been... well, you’ve been there for me every time. You let me ruin your sleep--”

“It’s nothing,” he interrupted. “Seriously, what’s a few extra hours of sleep?”

She leveled him with a look. “Ronald Weasley? Saying he doesn’t care about sleep?”

“Well,” he said, placing his hands upon her own and picking one up off his chest. He placed a gentle kiss on the knuckles. “I care about sleep, but I love you--” he cut himself off. She couldn’t see his ears clearly in the dark, but she would have bet they were bright red. “I mean, not like that. I mean, not  _ not  _ like that but I just, I don’t know. I’ve loved you forever, of course, but not like... I just... I care about you is all...”

He trailed off, and Hermione felt her chest warm at the babbling sentiment. She caught his eye again as the words died on his lips and smiled softly. “I know, Ron. I feel... exactly the same way.”

He smiled back and held her gaze. She rubbed her thumb against his chest. An almost tangible glow seemed to stretch between them.

“‘M gonna kiss you now,” he said gruffly, and she nodded.

Their lips met softly at first, but the firewhiskey made her brave much sooner than she expected. She trailed her hands up his chest to grab at the back of his head, pulling him even closer to her. She opened her mouth to him and he eagerly responded, pushing his tongue past her lips. 

They stayed like that for a few moments, but when her fingers began tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, his breath hitched. He grabbed her around the waist and spun them around, her back now pinned to the rough bark of the tree. He pulled away from her, and though her face moved to follow his, he smirked and found her jaw bone, planting light kisses there instead. Hermione hummed in contentment.

“Ron,” she said, her eyes closing as his lips ghosted across her throat. She bit back a sigh.

“Hmmm?” he asked. He switched sides, and she tilted her head to allow him better access.

“Do you think your mum and dad will notice if we went around the front of the house right now?” she asked, biting down on her bottom lip.

His lips paused and he lifted his head to look at her. “Why?”

She steeled her nerves and put her hand back on his neck, pulling him down for a brief kiss, then looking him in the eye. “Because I’d like you to take me up to your room right now.”

He stared at her for a moment like he wasn’t quite able to process the information. She breathed heavily, not moving her eyes away from his despite the anxiety starting to bubble in her chest. 

“Yeah, I reckon we could sneak away.”

He grinned and kissed her quickly again, grabbing her hand and practically running out of the orchard. Instead of going out the gate, they hopped a shrub off to the side and skirted around the garden, staying out of what they hoped was both eyesight and candlelight. When they made it to the front without being stopped, they assumed they had gotten away with it.

Ron tried to stop them at the front door, pulling Hermione in for a kiss, but she shoved him back, giggling. “Your room, Ronald. Not the sitting room.”

He shrugged, laughing. “Can’t keep my hands off you, I guess.”

She smiled at that and tugged on his arm, taking the steps two at a time up to his fifth-floor bedroom. She hadn’t taken two steps inside before Ron’s mouth was on her neck again, his hands around her waist as he pulled her to his chest. 

Before she completely lost her mind, Hermione reached into her pocket for her wand, spelling the door shut and casting a muffliato charm on the room, then turned to face Ron. He smiled at her and she brought a hand up to trace some of the freckles on his face.

“You’re wonderful, Ron.”

“You are too, Hermione.”

With that, he captured her lips with his again and led them to the bed.

* * *

“Ginny, I have a problem.”

Hermione locked the door behind her after she burst into the younger girl’s room. Ginny looked up from the parchment she was reading, not moving from her spot on the bed. Arnold was between her legs. He scurried back and forth on the old quilt, following a shower of sparks coming from a Weasley’s Wizzbang Sparkler the girl had set off in the air.

“Hi Ginny, nice to see you Ginny, how are you doing Ginny?” she responded tartly, setting her parchment aside and picking up the purple pygmy puff, letting him rest on her shoulder. “You know, you’ve hardly spoken to me since Harry’s birthday.”

Hermione grimaced. It was true, she had been avoiding her friend for the past week. Mostly in an attempt to avoid admitting that she was (finally, some may say) shagging her brother. 

“Hi, Gin, how are you doing?” she tried again.

Ginny snorted. “I know that look on your face, Hermione. Your brain won’t hear a word I say until you talk about the issue you’re having so--” she gestured to the other bed in the room, “--you might as well get on with it. We can talk about me after.”

Hermione shot her a grateful look and beelined for the other twin bed, perching on the edge of the mattress. She opened her mouth to speak then closed it again, switching her position to lay on her stomach, her legs kicked up and her head turned toward Ginny.

Bemused, Ginny said, “Comfy?”

“Quite,” Hermione replied, taking a deep breath. “So, my problem is... well, it’s hard to describe, I guess. I quite honestly shouldn’t be having this problem at all and I did  _ extensive  _ research to try to combat the possibility of this being a problem but I’m  _ still  _ having this problem and it’s bothering me. So, I need your help, and I need you not to judge me or... anyone else involved... for it.”

She paused and looked at Ginny, who just stared at her expectantly. Hermione took a deep breath.

“I guess I have a question,” she said, her stomach churning. She could feel her palms begin to sweat. “Have you ever had issues with Harry... um...” 

She trailed off now, and this time Ginny’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “With Harry  _ what,  _ Hermione?”

Hermione groaned and closed her eyes, turning to bury her face in the pillow.

“WithHarrysatisfyingyou?” she finally spit out, her words jumbled and muffled. Silence fell over the room for a moment, and Hermione felt the blood rushing to her face. She counted to ten in her head and then chanced a glance at Ginny, who looked like she had been hit with a bludger and a cheering charm all at once.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, though Hermione could tell it took great effort. “I thought you just asked if I had problems with Harry  _ satisfying me. _ ”

Hermione winced and nodded. Ginny burst with laughter.

“Are you asking me this because you finally  _ shagged my brother?! _ ” she yelled, and Hermione immediately went wide-eyed and bright red.

“Shush! Do you want the entire house to hear? Do you think I’d like to explain this to your mum? And don’t you dare give me that look, Ginny-” she stopped as Ginny started to get a mischievous smile reminiscent of the twins. “If you so much as  _ breathe  _ a word of this to anyone, including Harry, I will tell Ron every single thing you told me about you and Harry sixth year.”

Ginny actually balked at this. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Hermione said, pulling her wand out and silently casting the muffliato charm. “Though I guess I should have expected this reaction and done this earlier. I just thought you’d be grossed out.”

“Oh, trust me,” Ginny said, reaching up to take Arnold into her hands to pet him. “I am thoroughly disgusted that anyone would want to shag Ron, but I knew this would happen eventually.”

Hermione winced a bit at that. Something she had grown to hate as she matured was her predictability.

“Very well, but you still haven’t answered my question, Gin.”

Ginny grinned a bit then shook her head. “I mean, unfortunately for you the answer is no, not really. Sure the first few times were a bit awkward and rushed but,” she looked kind of dreamily at the wall. “You know Harry, he’s bloody resourceful and selfless to a fault. We figured things out pretty quickly.”

Hermione groaned, sitting up now and settling with her back against the wall, crossing her legs to face Ginny. 

“This is so entirely unhelpful.”

“Sorry,” Ginny replied without a hint of remorse in her voice. “How bad are we talking here? Has he at least made you, you know?” She frowned a bit. “Merlin, I’m going to have to pretend we’re talking about Krum or something for this conversation to be bearable at all I think. Anyway, has he made you come?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed and she wrung her hands in her lap. “I don’t think so.”

“So no.”

“Well, isn’t it different when you’re... with someone?”

“Not that different.”

“Right.” Hermione let her head hit against the wall. “It’s just, there are always all these warm feelings when we’re snogging, and I  _ want  _ to do it, but then the minute our clothes start coming off it’s like a draft has entered the room. I just feel.. weird.”

“Weird isn’t great,” Ginny said, petting Arnold thoughtfully. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“No. But what am I supposed to say? ‘Ron I care about you but you’re just not quite doing it for me in the bedroom?’”

“Ew. We’re pretending we’re talking about Krum, remember?”

Hermione gave her a look. Ginny gave her one back.

“Anyway,” Ginny said, moving past it. “I’ve never known you to  _ not  _ share your opinion on something, Hermione. Especially something as important as this.”

Hermione put her face in her hands, groaning. “I just- I haven’t figured out my feelings on it quite yet. When you put the pieces together, this shouldn’t be happening, right? We’ve fancied each other for ages, we’ve been together for months and it’s been great, and the timing seemed right.” She let her hands drop to her side and stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe this is just- I don’t know- how my body is. It’s not like I have much experience.”

“Hermione, come on, you can’t logic your way out of this one.”

“But-”

“But nothing!”

“But, I just... I don’t want to break him,” she said finally, covering her face with her hands again. She heard Ginny sigh, and suddenly the bed beside her sagged under the weight of the other girl. A hand was on her shoulder.

“You’re not going to break him, Hermione. This is really not as big of a deal as you’re making it seem.”

She looked at Ginny out of the corner of her eye. “I’m just nervous. He’s been so... enthusiastic... about how perfect we are together and how we’re going to be together  _ forever  _ and I just don’t- I don’t want to hurt him.”

Ginny gave her a sympathetic look, which Hermione hated.

“Well, I think it’ll hurt him more if he finds out you’ve been keeping this from him. I know his ego can be fragile but he’s a big boy, he can handle it.”

“Krum, a fragile ego?” Hermione said, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Shut up. Really, though, you should talk to him.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

Something about the suggestion still didn’t feel right to Hermione. While she knew open communication was crucial in relationships, especially in early stages, she was unsure where that would lead. She thought back to their conversation in the orchard in June, her held tongue when he chattered excitedly about their future he seemed so sure about. His face had spoken volumes, he had complete faith in their ability to be a couple, and she couldn’t shatter that.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it was out of care or pity.

Ginny leaned back onto the wall beside her then, bumping their shoulders together. “Hey, I got my letter yesterday, did you get one?”

“A less formal one from McGonagall, but yes,” Hermione replied, grateful for the change in subject. “Just a note with our arrangement in writing and a list of books she’d like me to procure. The letter said she’d be taking charge of our lessons herself and only calling on the other professors when necessary.”

“Honestly, that sounds like your version of a wet dream, Hermione. Are you sure that isn’t your issue?” Ginny asked without a hint of irony in her voice.

“Ginny!” Hermione said, exasperated.

“I’m just saying.” Ginny held her hands up in surrender. “Listen, mum said Harry can be my escort to Diagon Alley for my things- I think she’s worried to leave George alone- but he and Ron have meetings all this week with the auror office. Do you want to come with instead? We can nip over and grab our books and have a butterbeer at the Leaky. It’ll be nice.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “Sure, when were you thinking?”

“Tomorrow, if you’re free.”

Hermione thought of the  _ Magicke of the Mind  _ book sitting on Ron’s bedside table. She had finished  _ Advanced Charms  _ and had just started delving into the large tome the day before. It was slow-going, as the majority was written in old English, which she was admittedly not well-versed in. Still, she felt she had to make it up to Ginny for avoiding her for the week. She would be starting her own position at the Ministry soon and knew, even if Ginny would deny it tooth and nail, that her friend was starting to dread being home alone until it was time to head back to Hogwarts.

“Alright, we’ll pick up something for your birthday, too. My treat.”

Ginny grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, a mid-week chapter! I finished this rather quickly (I think because I was dreading writing that first scene and wanted to get it over with- I'm planning on being a bit more ~descriptive~ with Geomione once we eventually get them there but man I did not want to write awkward unsatisfying smut so you get a fade to black instead). I was initially planning to pack this with a bit more plot, but it was getting too long. Like 8,000 words. I think the character moments between Ron and Hermione are important here, though, so I left it as is and decided to post it! 
> 
> Writing the Ginny/Hermione convo has been in my mind for months now so I'm glad I finally got to do it. Let me know what you think! I've already started on chapter 5 so it should be out on schedule (either Sunday or Monday). Love you all thank you for reading! <3


	5. The Office of Misinformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The fourth level of the ministry was strange in its familiarity. She was deposited by the lift into a circular room, too similar to the one on the ninth floor for Hermione’s tastes. However, while it shared a structure with the Department of Mysteries, the decorating choices were starkly different. This hall reminded her much more of her parent’s old dental practice in London, with beige walls and hardwood flooring. A circular rug sat in the center with the Department’s sigil woven into it."

Hermione coughed a bit when they stepped out of the floo at the Leaky Cauldron the next day. As with most modes of magical transportation, she still felt out-of-sorts being shot around through the ether only to land in another location.

The bar, she noticed when she looked around, was dim as ever. She hadn’t been sure what she expected, but as it was the first time she had made her way back to the general public of the wizarding world since the battle, it seemed odd that it didn’t seem much different from the handful of times she had visited prior to Voldemort’s return.

Both she and Ginny had to shake some soot out of their hair as they crossed the threshold of the fireplace, though Hermione definitely had to work harder to get it out of her curly locks. As they fussed with their hair, Tom caught their eye and smiled at them, giving them a wave and a toothless grin. Hermione smiled politely, but Ginny waved and grinned, taking Hermione’s elbow into her own and starting towards the door.

Though the bar was mostly empty, it was hard for Hermione to ignore the stares of the few patrons as they both made their way to the Diagon Alley entrance. It was an odd experience, she realized, to be sought out in this way. She was used to catching eyes at Hogwarts, being Harry Potter’s best friend made that an inevitability, but not outside of the castle walls, and certainly not without Harry beside her. When the whispers started, picking up when the girls were just barely within earshot of the patrons, Hermione’s stomach turned.

She shot Ginny a glance, and the girl just shrugged nonchalantly.

Once they pushed through the exit door of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione’s breath caught as they were greeted by something that seemed somewhat... normal. It seemed the thirteen or so weeks since the final defeat of Voldemort had been enough time for Diagon Alley to heal. Gone were the sinister signs boasting artifacts of the dark arts, the street vendors selling bogus protection equipment, and the general aura of despair that had permeated the place the last time Hermione had visited.

As Bellatrix. The last time Hermione had visited as Bellatrix. The thought made her shudder.

Though it had not quite returned to it’s previous vivaciousness, the alley had managed to pep up considerably. Ollivanders, she could see, was back in business, as were Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkins. The defensive item peddlers had been replaced with a few of the former tenants- a flower vendor, a man boasting the best bottled pumpkin juice money could buy, an older witch with a cart full of jeweled necklaces and earrings. There was even a man on the far street corner announcing the day’s headline of the Daily Prophet:  _ War Heroes turned Aurors: Potter and Weasley Spotted Meeting with the Minister. _

“Reckon we’ll be a story tomorrow?” Ginny asked, giggling, as she beelined for Flourish and Blotts, dragging Hermione along behind her.

Hermione took a nervous look around. The usual crowds of Diagon Alley had certainly returned, and it seemed that every single one of them had at least one eye on her and Ginny. She shoved her hands in the pocket of her robe, trying to calm her breathing by placing a hand on her wand as she felt her heartbeat start to pick up pace. Looking at the ground, she said, “I’d be surprised if we weren’t, Gin. Let’s get inside.”

Her steps overtook Ginny’s in a few strides and she was dragging the other girl now across the cobblestone path. She hid her face behind her hair as best as she could, and when they made it into the shop, she scanned the room. Something about the tall bookshelves filled to bursting was comforting to her, but she panicked a bit when she realized that it was packed with Hogwarts students looking for their supplies for the start of term. 

Ginny placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Hermione, are you alright?” she whispered.

Hermione nodded slowly. She closed her eyes and took a centering breath, then looked over to Ginny with a forced smile.

“I’m brilliant, let’s get these books.”

Ginny gave her a suspicious look, but gestured with a hand, inviting her to lead the way.

The girls managed to get their shopping done fairly quickly and without further incident, though Hermione couldn’t seem to shake the dread that settled in her chest over the feeling of being watched. They had just four books, a new cauldron, and a new set of scales to obtain between the two of them, and once they finished that they headed off toward Quality Quidditch Supplies so they could pick up a broom servicing kit as Hermione’s gift to Ginny. She had it on good authority that the girl would be receiving a new broom from a certain bespectacled auror. 

Coming out of the store, they decided to wander around the street vendors, seeing if there was anything they wanted to pick up. Snacks and flowers and sweet-smelling potions greeted them at a few stands, and they lost themselves in the simple pleasure of shopping for fun, something that had not been allowed to do in what felt like ages. This led them to turn a corner without thinking, where they were greeted with the sight of Fred and George’s shop, or what was left of it.

“Oh,” Hermione squeaked, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the street. An old wizard with a tall, pointy hat behind her almost crashed into her and scoffed indignantly. “Sorry,” she muttered, not taking her eyes off the building in front of her.

“Oh Merlin, Hermione, it’s awful,” Ginny whispered.

The shop was in ruin. It was evident the twins had attempted to protect it as much as they could prior to going into hiding. There were a few wooden boards hanging off the tops of the large glass windows, and a few scattered on the street in front of the building, as if they had been blown off by some kind of explosion. The glass was entirely broken, and inside Hermione could see most of the shelves were empty. Dark graffiti was splayed across every brick of the building, with horrendous phrases like ‘Mudblood lovers,’ ‘Blood traitors,’ and ‘The Dark Lord will find you’ scrawled in awful handwriting. There were even a few spots with what looked like magical graffiti, shimmering red lines that seemed to cut into the stone. 

“They- He’s been completely robbed,” Hermione said, stumbling over her words. Her eyes scanned the building, top to bottom. “The flat, though. It looks untouched...”

“Not many people knew they lived there,” Ginny shook her head and Hermione could have sworn she saw her jaw twitch. “But George didn’t get robbed, luckily. Once you, Ron and Harry broke into the ministry he and F-Fred knew it was just a matter of time. When they went to Muriel’s they brought almost their entire stock with them for Owl Orders.”

“Well that’s... a silver lining, I suppose,” Hermione said, but she couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat well enough to say it with any conviction.

“I suppose,” Ginny echoed. They both stood there in silence for a moment, taking in the building. Eventually, Ginny stared back down the street and whispered, “Let’s go home, I’m not quite feeling up to butterbeer anymore.”

* * *

The ministry requested Hermione start her position just four days later, on August 10th. She had been waiting for her starting confirmation for over a month, so when a rather perky owl swooped in through the open sitting room window and dropped a letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures into her lap, she let out a little squeak and almost dropped  _ Magicke of the Minde  _ onto Ron’s head, who was sitting on the floor beside her place on the sofa.

“Oi, are you alright?” he asked. He looked up, his face concerned, from his game of exploding snap with Ginny.

“Oh, sorry, sorry! I’m quite alright!” Hermione said, smiling, as she tore into the letter.

“It’s not another interview request, is it?” Harry asked warily, pulling a hand through his unruly hair. He was laid out on the floor by the siblings, playing with the Weasley practice snitch by letting it fly just a few feet in front of him and then snatching it.

“No, it’s from the DRCMC,” Hermione said, scanning the letter in her hands. “They want me to start Monday! And they’ve assigned me to an office. The... Office of Misinformation?” She looked at the Weasleys. “I didn’t know there was such a thing. What could that possibly mean?”

Ron and Ginny both shrugged. “Haven’t done a lot of research into all the ministry departments, have I?” Ron said. “Dad’ll probably know, you can ask him when he gets home.”

Hermione nodded, then read the letter a second and third time to make sure she didn’t miss anything. 

“You’ll be home for dinners, right?” Ginny asked, looking up from the game to give Hermione a hard stare. “I told mum I just wanted a nice family dinner for my birthday Tuesday and you  _ better  _ be there.”

“Yes, it looks like they’ll have me starting at seven in the morning.”

“Good,” Ginny said, satisfied, then under her breath she said, “Now if only we could get George to attend.” 

Hermione and Ron both gave her a sad sort of look, but Harry seemed not to hear. 

“The Department of Misinformation,” he said, rapidly pulling himself into a sitting position as the snitch had suddenly caught a bit of speed he hadn’t been expecting. He managed to pinch a wing between his fingers. “Wonder what they’ll have you doing.”

“Well I guess we’ll find out,” Hermione said, shrugging and turning back to her book.

* * *

“Essentially, it’s the team that controls the narrative when something goes really wrong between the muggle and wizarding worlds,” Mr. Weasley explained that night, the group well into their second helpings of beef wellington. “Specifically in regards to magical creatures, mind you. I hadn’t thought of it, but it makes sense that they’re trying to refill the office. With You-Know-Who in power, they probably sacked the lot of them.”

“So I’ll be... covering up for the Ministry?” Hermione asked. Her eyebrows knit together.

“Essentially.”

“Hmm,” Hermione replied, chewing her food thoughtfully. “That’s... interesting.”

“They probably chose you for the department because you’re a muggle-born, dear. They like having folks with a bit more knowledge about the muggle world in the office,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“I’m just interested to know if they considered any of my other qualifications,” she said simply, shaking her head. “No matter, I’m sure it’ll be quite the adventure.”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nodded and Ron gave her an encouraging smile. Ginny, though, scoffed.

“Quite an adventure. You’re bloody brilliant and they’re regulating you to damage control for idiots.”

“Well, guess there’s not much for me to do besides be positive, Gin.”

Ginny just shrugged noncommittally, though there was still a bit of anger in her eyes.

When dinner was cleaned up, Mrs. Weasley handed Hermione George’s plate and a cup of pumpkin juice, patting her on the shoulder. “Let him know he’s welcome down here if he wants, will you?”

Hermione gave her a tight smile, then headed up the stairs.

She had stopped knocking weeks ago. It seemed redundant, at some point, and she had grown tired of waiting for him to drag himself off his bed or out of his chair to let her in. He didn’t complain when she let herself in the first time, and she had done it ever since. Tonight, she pushed open the door with her hip, her eyes firmly on the cup of juice, trying not to let it spill as she walked into George’s room.

“Beef wellington,” she said, looking up once she was sure everything was balanced. She was shocked to find the room looking quite different. He had pushed his bed and the desk off to the side and conjured a long table. A number of strange-looking vials were strewn about the surface, and in the middle sat a cauldron, half-full and smoking. George was staring intently at the contents, which were bright red and bubbling. The entire room smelled strange, like gunpowder and sea salt.

“Thought I’d try my hand at making something,” he said by way of explanation, not looking up or even really blinking. “Thought a WonderWitch potion might be good, safe. We invented them as a laugh, only took us a few weeks. Nothing like the Snackboxes or the Whizz-Bangs.” He snatched up his wand from beside the cauldron and jabbed at it, vanishing the offending liquid. The smell toned down significantly. “‘Course, I forgot it requires two people to stir to make it correctly. Should have been a rosy pink by now, but all it gave me was that red goo.”

He seemed to be talking to himself more than Hermione at this point, so she crossed the room to place his dinner and the cup on the empty desk while he collapsed against his chair, his face now turned towards the ceiling. She pulled her own wand out of her pocket and waved it toward the table. The vials and the cauldron neatly tucked themselves into a corner. She wasn’t sure if George had his own organization system for the ingredients, but he could sort that out himself later. She summoned the plate and the pumpkin juice, setting it in front of him, and then hopped onto the far end of the table, gesturing at the plate.

“Beef wellington,” she repeated. “Ginny helped make it but it’s still rather good.”

George looked at her for a moment, his gaze hard, and Hermione would have bet galleons that he was hoping to will her away with his desire to be alone. Unfortunately for him, she was rather stubborn when she wanted to be, and she was aware of how good her short visits were for him.

He had gained back a significant amount of weight, his face rounding out to some form of its former glory, though he was sporting a fair amount of scruff that he had not allowed previously. His eyes were less sunken, the bags nearly gone. She gestured to the plate again and he sighed, clearly giving up as he picked up the utensils and began cutting into the meat.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” she asked simply. She pulled her bare feet up onto the table and leaned her head onto her knees to watch him.

George had taken to watching her often in the past few weeks, she had noticed. She assumed it was his way of protecting himself, keeping himself safe. He would watch for her reactions, her laugh, his eyes searching for any indication of her mood as they talked. She had found it disconcerting at first, but then she started returning the favor, if almost on instinct. It wasn’t a wary sort of analysis, the way she had seen Ron and Ginny and the other Weasley’s watch him in the days following the battle and the funeral. No, her gaze was much more curious.

George took the time to chew his food carefully and swallow before replying, “Didn’t want to.”

She hummed. He took another bite.

“Could I?” she asked suddenly, and he looked at her with a curious expression. “Help you, I mean. I did get an O in potions fifth year, you know.”

“Not likely to forget that, Granger.” He smiled slightly. “Maybe another night, I think I’ve exhausted my energies with this attempt.”

She nodded, and noted the tone of his voice. It wasn’t dismissive or flippant, not angry or sad. He seemed to genuinely believe he may reach out to her another night to ask for help. It was the most receptive he had been to an offer like that since he agreed to her bringing him dinner each night.

“Well, you know where to find me,” she said, returning his smile with her own before changing the subject. “You know, Ginny’s birthday is Tuesday.”

George nodded, stabbing a carrot with a little more force than necessary.

“She said she’d like if you were there to celebrate.”

“A party? If you think I’m going to attend a-”

“It’s just a family dinner,” Hermione interrupted. “A family dinner with Bill and Fleur.”

George closed his mouth then looked back down at his food.

“I’ll think about it.”

Hermione nodded. At least she had tried.

“Alright, and do let me know if you’d like to attempt the WonderWitch potion again.” Without waiting for a response, she shoved herself off the desk and left the room.

* * *

The atrium of the Ministry had changed a great deal with the installation of Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister. The “Magic is Might” statue had been promptly vanished from the center and the Minister had decided to fill it, for the time being, with an indoor garden space that put the Hogwarts greenhouses to shame. The fireplaces were back to public ministry employee use, the toilets in Whitehall closed, and the large propaganda posters had been replaced with banners proclaiming victory over Voldemort.

What Hermione noticed most, however, as she had with Diagon Alley, was the spirit of the place. The floor boomed with the echoes of laughter and conversation as witches and wizards made their way through the space, each headed to their own destination despite the early hour. Hermione took a few steps away from the fireplace she had arrived through, taking a moment to take it all in.

“Is that Hermione Granger?”

She heard the whisper come from her left and it took a large amount of self-control to keep herself from turning her head toward the sound. Instead, she steeled her shoulders and took off for the lifts.

The fourth level of the ministry was strange in its familiarity. She was deposited by the lift into a circular room, too similar to the one on the ninth floor for Hermione’s tastes. However, while it shared a structure with the Department of Mysteries, the decorating choices were starkly different. This hall reminded her much more of her parent’s old dental practice in London, with beige walls and hardwood flooring. A circular rug sat in the center with the Department’s sigil woven into it. Each door was wooden, with a worn brass handle and a small gold plaque on the top. Hermione moved toward the closest door on her left and found that it read ‘BEAST DIVISION’ in neat typeface. She checked the next, which was labeled ‘BEING DIVISION.’ She kept around the circular hall, reading each door individually until she happened upon the entrance to the Office of Misinformation at the very end. She was grateful, too, as the lift pinged to announce its arrival and two wizards stepped off, both deep in conversation. She hurried into the office before she was noticed, not wanting to be seen not knowing her way around.

“Hello,” a witch said brightly as Hermione entered the room. She was young, probably only 4 or 5 years out of Hogwarts, and was sitting at a desk between two doors. This seemed to be a receiving area, Hermione noted, as there were chairs lining the wall closest to her. “Welcome to the Office of Misinformation. We handle the explanation of all creature-related calamities in the muggle world. How can I help you today?”

“Hello,” Hermione said, giving her a smile. “I’m Hermione Granger—” she pretended not to notice the little yelp the woman gave at the mention of her name, “—and I was told to report here today for my first day.”

“Ah, yes,” the witch replied with forced politeness before grabbing a piece of parchment on her desk and scribbling something on it. She pulled out a wand from beneath her light blue robes- the standard for the department- and tapped the parchment. It folded itself into an airplane shape and zoomed out the door. “Mr. Prott is currently in a meeting with the Pest Advisory Board, seems we had a nasty Puffskein infestation to cover up in Wales this morning. He should be back momentarily.” She gestured at the chairs on the wall. “You can take a seat, Ms. Granger, if you wish.”

Hermione took a seat and pulled  _ Magicke of the Minde  _ out of her handbag along with a self-inking quill and some scrap parchment. She had quickly retired the beaded purse from her camping misadventures with the boys, but she had taken to placing an Undetectable Extension Charm on all of her bags. It was just too useful.

She got about half a sentence in, referencing her notes on Old English words often, before she was interrupted by a small cough. She looked up to find the receptionist witch staring at her.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to mask the wary in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Granger,” the witch replied, her deep skin blushing. “I just... I have to say, it really is an honor to know you’ll be working in our little office.”

Hermione smiled politely. “Thank you,” she checked the witch’s name plate placed on the desk, “Winnie, is it?” The witch nodded. “Thank you, Winnie, but truthfully, I’m not all that exciting.”

Winnie looked at her like she had suddenly grown a second head, or perhaps as if she had been transfigured into a duck. “Not that exciting? I remember them talking about you when I was still at Hogwarts! Harry Potter’s best friend, the smartest witch of our age and a muggleborn to boot.” Her eyes went wide. “You were a legend even before this last year, Ms. Granger, even in your fourth year your name made it to the Hufflepuff house.”

“You can call me Hermione, and I’m sure that had much more to do with that awful Rita Skeeter than anything I did myself,” Hermione said bitterly. When she saw Winnie open her mouth to reply, she cut her off. “Truly, Winnie, thank you. I appreciate the praise, but I don’t think I’m quite that special. I’m just trying to work, same as you.”

“But—” 

Luckily, Hermione was saved from further conversation with the opening of the door. In stepped a tall wizard who looked to be in his mid-30s. Hermione’s first impression of him was he was too perfect- from the expertly-slicked hair on his head all the way down to the bottom of his light blue robes, which were tailored to just barely skim the ground as he walked. He smiled at Winnie for a second then turned his attention to Hermione. His entire being reminded her of Lockhart prior to his accident in Slytherin’s Chamber, right down to the way his smile seemed unnaturally white.

“Hermione Granger,” he said, reaching out a hand toward her. She shoved her things back into her handbag and stood, taking the hand to shake. “A pleasure to meet you. We’ve heard so much, of course. I’m sure Winnie has shared our gratitude that you’ll be working with our office.”

He glanced at Winnie, who had turned a deep purple shade. She nodded her head quickly.

“She has been most kind, Mr. Prott,” Hermione said smoothly, drawing his attention back to her. His grin never faltered.

“Well, I hope you’ll be a good addition to our team here. I just took over the office a few weeks ago, the previous head was—” he paused and winked at her, “sympathetic to the other cause.”

Hermione’s lips ticked down into a frown, but he moved on quickly, leading them to the door on the right of Winnie’s desk.

“No matter, though, I’m happy to be bringing the Office of Misinformation back to its former glory. No more terrified muggles, and no more acceptance of breaches of the Statute of Secrecy on my watch.”

Hermione just nodded and followed him as he led her into a decently-sized room with six cubicles in the center. On the outer walls were various posters of different magical creatures, from harpies to hippogriffs to house-elves, each with a crude drawing and a bit of information, as well as their classification level. Three of the six desks were occupied by wizards, their cubicle walls decorated with photos and drawings and other knick knacks. Each empty desk seemed to come with a filing cabinet, a bin, a tray for what Hermione assumed was memos, a stack of parchment, and a quill. The room was mostly quiet, with the two wizards at the desk closest to the door whispering in hushed tones.

“Team,” Mr. Prott said grandly as Hermione shut the door behind her. “This is Hermione Granger, it’s her first day and I expect you to help her with anything she needs.”

The three men looked up and took her in. Hermione caught one of them staring at her chest, and she glared at him until he stopped, turning back around rather unabashedly. That wasn’t going to be pleasant to deal with. Another seemed surprised to see her, his eyes widening at the mention of her name, and she prayed he wouldn’t turn out to be another ‘fan’ of her and her friends. The last, though, just regarded her with a calm indifference.

Mr. Prott brought her to the desk next to the last man, gesturing to it.

“This will be your desk, and this will be your partner, Eddie Hawthorn.” Eddie had already gone back to reading the parchment on his desk, not really paying her any mind. “Eddie will show you your assignments today. You will get a joint caseload and it will be up to the two of you to determine how to break it up. Some of the cases will likely require more creativity than others, and that’s where I expect you to work together.” Mr. Prott placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and Hermione watched him cringe slightly at it. “Mr. Hawthorn, I expect you will show Ms. Granger everything she needs to know to be successful here.”

Mr. Prott left her then with one last dazzling smile. A small part of her brain thanked Merlin that she was no longer twelve years old.

Once he was gone, Hermione settled down at her desk. Mr. Weasley had explained that she would likely get somewhat of a space for herself, so she had come prepared with a few things that would make the desk feel less dreary— a photo of her, Ron and Harry from their third year, captured by the late Colin Creevey; a parchment with some flower pressings she and Ginny had done over the summer; the last letter her parents had sent her at Hogwarts. She placed them all up on the walls of the cubicle using a sticking charm, making a mental note to bring some more things the next day, then turned to her partner.

“Eddie Hawthorn, was it?” she asked, offering her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“I prefer Edmund,” he said plainly, not looking up from his desk. Hermione frowned. “And I’m sure it is.” He looked up now, regarding Hermione’s hand with a cold gaze and choosing to ignore it. She pulled it back to her side. “I’m not here to make friends, Ms. Granger. I know your reputation well, and I hope you’re as studious and hard-working as they say, because I frankly prefer to work alone. I hope we only need to collaborate on the most dire of tasks.” He looked at the pile of parchment on his desk and grabbed approximately half of it. “Here are half of our cases. You’ll find the reports rather self-explanatory. We’re to come up with a reasonable explanation that a muggle would have no problem believing, write the memo, then send it off to the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. You do know the charm for the memos, correct?”

He looked at Hermione expectantly, and she nodded. Mr. Weasley had shown her the day before.

“Splendid. Once they’ve approved the excuse, you’ll be expected to create documentation to help corroborate your story and send  _ those  _ documents along with the story to the Minister’s office via a full report where they will be distributed to the Muggle Prime Minister.” He gave her a tight uptick of his lips, which she guessed you could call a smile. “I look forward to our interactions remaining this brief.”

He turned back to his desk.

Hermione sat for a moment in her chair, arranging her desk in a way she found useful. She placed the reports she had been handed in the tray on her desk and pulled her self-inking quill out of her bag, preferring it to the ministry-provided alternative. She examined her filing cabinet and found it already contained a few folders, each marked with a different type of magical creature. She assumed this is where her finished cases would go.

Once she was situated, she started in on her first report. It seemed an easy enough solution, a dozen or so nifflers had been spotted by a group of muggle teenagers inside of one of their homes. The boy’s mother was apparently a collector of gold jewelry, and the nifflers had been having a field day in her drawers and cabinets.

“Looks like a party got a little too wild,” Hermione muttered, scratching down her most plausible explanation- the teenagers were under the influence and seeing things. She tapped the parchment with her wand and watched it fold itself and fly out the door.

She put the niffler report aside as she waited for a reply and pulled the next one, stifling a yawn with her hand. Edmund glared at her over their shared wall.

“Could you keep it down, please?” he asked; his voice brisk.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

“So he won’t speak to you  _ at all _ ?” Ron asked, waving his wand and setting a knife to chop up some potatoes. It was Tuesday and Mrs. Weasley had recruited them to help with Ginny’s birthday dinner. Harry had disappeared with Ginny about an hour ago, claiming he was going to help her with her flying before dinner.

“Not a word,” she said as she peeled some carrots by hand into the large sink. “It’s only my second day and he said I was ‘too disruptive.’ Me, Ron! Disruptive!”

Ron snorted and shook his head.

“This Edmund guy seems like a real prat. Want me to fight him for you?”

Hermione gave him a stern look. “Is that really your answer to everything, Ron? Fighting?”

Ron shrugged and Hermione rolled her eyes, each of them going back to their respective tasks. Ron whistled cherrily.

Hermione finished peeling the carrots quickly and got to chopping them, yawning loudly as she transferred them onto a cutting board. Her nightmares had gone rogue again the night before. Bellatrix had turned into Ron in the middle of her torture, and he had finished the job, complete with the Cruciatus curse. The real Ron hadn’t been able to get her to calm down for hours.

Between that and the truly mind-numbing cases she had dealt with in silence at the Ministry, it was a wonder Hermione was still standing.

Her eyes blurred a bit as she let out another yawn, a shudder going up her spine. Her knife slipped from the movement, causing her to cut a large gash into her thumb. She yelped, and Ron looked up from the potatoes he was still supervising.

“Merlin, Hermione!” he said in surprise while she shoved her hand into the sink, running the water over it quickly. “You’re a witch, you know.”

“Thank you, Ronald,” she said, more harshly than she intended. The pain and her exhaustion were getting the better of her. She grabbed her wand and muttered, “Episky,” which caused the wound to close up on itself. There was a faint scar, but Hermione guessed that would be gone by the morning.

“I’m jus’ saying. You could have just enchanted the knife.”

“Sometimes I prefer to do things the muggle way, Ronald.”

He held his hands up. “Alright, Hermione. Do them the muggle way then.”

Hermione huffed and picked up the now-bloody carrot, throwing it into a bin by the door. She moved back to the counter to finish, but Ron had already cleaned the knife and ordered it to chop the carrots itself. His potatoes were done, and he threw them into the pot.

“Well it looks like you’ve got everything sorted in here,” she said, heading for the kitchen door.

“Hermione-”

She was out of the room before Ron could fully reply. She took a few deep breaths and headed up the stairs to their room, shaking her head as she went. She needed to cool down and maybe take a nap before dinner.

She descended the stairs an hour later, rested and ready to apologize. She knew her outburst earlier probably wasn’t fair to Ron. It wasn’t his fault she was having a bad day, and it certainly wasn’t his fault that his face was the last one she had to watch torture her. No, that was all thanks to her brain, which she was beginning to suspect may be completely addled.

The entire family, Bill, Fleur, and Percy (who had recently relocated to a flat in London) included, was already sitting around the table talking by the time she made it down and she quickly took her seat beside Ron in order to not delay the festivities any longer. Mrs. Weasley made a small speech about her baby girl finally becoming an adult, which would have felt completely incomplete without the few passive-aggressive remarks about that not meaning she could just go off and get married or anything, much to Harry’s embarrassment and the rest of the table’s delight. 

Mrs. Weasley began serving out bowls of soup, then, with thick slices of bread to accompany it. As they passed the bowls around, Hermione turned to Ron.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “About earlier.”

“S’Alright, Hermione. I know you’re under stress.”

“Still, that’s no excuse. My behavior was completely uncalled—”

She cut off her own sentence as she saw the kitchen door swing open behind Ron’s head. He looked at her curiously, but she just broke out into a grin as George entered the room sheepishly, a wrapped gift in his hand.

It took the room a moment to catch up. Harry was the second to notice, it seemed, and he pointed at the door with his own grin. Ginny, who had been talking to him, turned to look at where his finger was pointing and gasped, jumping out of her chair and flying into her brother’s embrace in a flurry of red hair and limbs. George caught and held her, the ghost of a smile on his face. Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley choke back a sob.

“Happy birthday, Ginny,” he said when she finally let him go.

“Took you long enough, you git,” Ginny said, smiling at him brightly. George looked shocked for a second, then fell into a short, but genuine, laugh. The room seemed to lighten at the sound of it.

“Oh, have a seat dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, finally bustling her way over to kiss her son on the cheek. “I’ll grab another bowl.”

George nodded and threw his present on top of the pile on the table, then took a seat next to Hermione. She grinned and elbowed him good-naturedly.

“Good to see you,” she said, and Ron on her other side nodded his agreement. “Though, I’m a bit put off that I won’t be able to lecture you tonight. I had a great one prepared.”

George smirked a bit. “Save it, I’m sure I’ll need it someday.”

This drew a laugh from Hermione, which made George’s smirk grow into a real smile. “I will, then.”

Hermione turned back around, tucking into her soup, but when she looked up to the birthday girl she found Ginny eyeing her curiously. She cocked an eyebrow, but Ginny just shook her head and shrugged, not seeming to want to talk about it.

Hermione shrugged back and focused back on her meal. It seemed to be the first one she’d truly enjoyed in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's chapter five, folks! It's probably bad practice to continue to ramble about my insecurities about the chapter in my author's note, but I'm going to keep doing it anyway. For this chapter, I'm hoping I'm convincingly portraying George and Hermione's growing friendship as well as the cracks starting to show in her relationship with Ron. I think I really underestimated how difficult it was going to be to break her and Ron up in a believable and civil way, but I still have faith!
> 
> As always, leave a comment if you enjoyed this, it really is the highlight of my week. See you guys next week! xx


	6. Dreamless Sleep Draught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right, don’t let it go to your head, Granger,” he said. “It’s not like I could ask my mum to help me brew a love potion.”  
> She laughed at that, causing George to smile. “I would have paid quite a few galleons to see Molly Weasley help you with this.”

Hermione’s days seemed to muddle together in an uncomfortable monotony with her new job at the Ministry. She would wake early, much earlier than anyone in the house, and make herself tea to try to stave off the sleepiness that seemed to constantly follow her. She hadn’t slept through the night in weeks. Then, she would get ready methodically, putting her hair up into a bun, as it was the only way to really deal with the unruly curls, and pulling on her light blue robes. Floo to the Ministry. Make up excuses for hippogriffs over the London Eye or a sudden spotting of unicorns in the Scottish Highlands. Ignore Edmund. She’d come home exhausted, with barely enough energy to carry on a conversation with Ron or Harry or Ginny before eating dinner and sleeping again.

Hermione had always fancied herself as someone who enjoyed routine, but this wasn’t routine. It was torture.

She was exceptionally grateful for the days that broke up the tedium- the days Harry and Ron had to go into the Ministry for an early meeting and floo in with her, the days she would find Ginny seated at the kitchen table to see her off- though they were few and far between. 

This made saying goodbye to her friends all the much harder once the first week of September rolled around. Ginny was first, a tearful goodbye at King’s Cross that was difficult to watch. Harry and the Weasleys carried an anxiety for her that seemed palpable. Still, Hermione reasoned, she would be seeing Ginny weekly after her tutoring with McGonagall started, so this was not a true goodbye.

Harry and Ron were gone four days later. It was a Saturday, but Hermione opted to floo to the Ministry with them to see them off. They were met with the sight of a dozen or so future aurors milling around the Atrium, each with a rucksack, ready for their instructions. Hermione was grateful that, in this circle at least, she and her friends didn’t seem to raise many eyebrows. She hugged Harry tightly and gave Ron a quick kiss, made them both promise to write under threat of death, and then flooed home when the boys went to join the others.

And then Hermione was alone.

She had elected to stay at the Burrow, though she now had enough money to rent her own flat. Ron believed she was waiting for him to be done with auror training so they could start a life together in London. She didn’t know how to tell him that she was actually just scared of being completely alone with her thoughts.

It was this first week of September, also, that Edmund spoke to her again. She had dodged questions from Winnie as she came into the office, a daily occurrence that was already starting to grate at her nerves, and sat down at her desk glumly. She was staring at a photo of her and her parents from her childhood and attempting to will herself to start her work when his head peeked over their cubicle divider.

“Ms. Granger,” he said formally, and she turned to face him. He looked at her apprehensively. “We’ve been given an assignment Mr. Prott would like us to collaborate on. He came in before your arrival to brief me.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, picking up her quill and some parchment to take notes. “What’s the case?”

“It seems a wizard on the coast had been illegally breeding Bavarian Erklings in his spare time and the lot of them escaped last week. The department was only notified this morning, and well—” he paused, actually looking a bit pained. “—the situation has been handled now, but the Erklings managed to capture and, er, devour about a dozen muggle children from different towns.”

Hermione’s quill stilled over her parchment.

“A dozen?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“A dozen,” Edmund replied, his voice sympathetic for the moment.

“And we’re to come up with some kind of excuse for that?”

Edmund fell back into his usual business-like tone. “Yes, Ms. Granger, that is our job.”

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m well aware of the duties of our job, Edmund, but you must agree that this type of situation is particularly abhorrent.”

“Well, I would have handled it myself but this is a big case and Mr. Prott didn’t trust my experience as a half-blood raised in the wizarding world. He said you’d have better insight into a truly muggle way of explaining the situation.”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, I suppose so. What’s your initial proposal?”

“I thought we could blame it on some kind of animal.”

“An animal that lures children out of their homes isn’t very believable unless they’re from a fairytale.”

Edmund scoffed at her. “Fairies don’t have tails, Ms. Granger.”

“I—” Hermione started, but then thought better of it. “You’re quite right, Edmund. Now, let’s think of something more believable—”

They worked together on the case all morning, each offering a semi-plausible explanation only to have the other shoot it down for one reason or another. Hermione was beginning to get frustrated as they inched closer to lunch time, her hair starting to work its way out of the tight knot on her head.

“It’s ridiculous,” she said. She leaned back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. “It’s like the only possible explanation for this is a bloody serial killer.”

She sat up suddenly, startling Edmund.

“A serial killer! That’s it!” she exclaimed, earning her a look over the cubicle from the other two misinformation officers. She smiled apologetically, then looked to Edmund, excitement beating in her chest. “We can blame it on a regional serial killer. They’ve all been taken in similar ways and had similar injuries when their bodies were found.”

Edmund appraised her for a second, then said, “Well, Ms. Granger. I think you may have done it.” 

Hermione’s chest soared and she grinned in response, jotting a few things down on her parchment. “I’ll draft the memo. Also,” she gave Edmund a meaningful look. “I’d prefer if you’d call me Hermione, Edmund. We are somewhat equals here.”

He sniffed. “Not when I have six months of seniority on you.” 

She fought back an eye roll but decided it was better not to reply. She finished drafting the memo, passing it to him over the cubicle wall. “Here, see if that’s to your satisfaction, then.”

He read it quickly then nodded to her. “This will do. I’ll start working on finding a muggle to blame for the murders.”

He tapped the parchment with his wand and it folded upon itself and went whizzing out the door. Hermione’s excitement seemed to go with it.

“A muggle to blame?”

“Yes,” Edmund said, looking at her. “Without a proper scapegoat the region will remain in panic and the muggles may start to ask questions. It’s standard practice when the method of misinformation allows for it.”

“That seems quite unfair, placing a muggle in prison for a crime they didn’t commit.”

“Well it’s that or modify the memories of a dozen muggle families to forget they had children at all. The ministry has determined the latter is much more cruel.”

Hermione winced. “Right.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of the report and you can just sign off on it at the end of the day.”

Hermione didn’t have it in her to argue any more, she just nodded.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

The rest of the day dragged by slowly. Hermione caught herself staring at the photo of her parents more than usual, taking in their smiling faces. By the time she worked through her caseload for the day, the artificial sky in the room’s window was already showing sunset. With her last memo being sent out the door, she gathered her things and made her way to the lift, completely ignoring Winnie and her attempts at conversation as she sped through the reception area. 

On a whim, it was not the Burrow she decided to floo too once she reached the fireplaces. Instead, she grabbed a fistful of the floo powder and clearly yelled out “Diagon Alley.”

The Leaky Cauldron was packed full when she arrived; various witches and wizards were gathered about, trying to get their after-work drinks. Tom didn’t even notice the flare of the fireplace. 

Hermione found she was grateful for the gathered crowd, as she was able to make it through and out of the pub without much fuss. Once outside, she headed straight for The Apothecary, tucked just a few storefronts away.

A bell chimed above the door as Hermione stepped in, and the old shopkeeper looked up from the barrel of porcupine quills he was dusting.

“Good timing, miss, I was just about to close up shop.”

Hermione gave him a small smile. “I’m grateful I caught you. I was just looking for a dreamless sleep draught, do you have any in stock?”

The shopkeeper frowned, shaking his head a bit. “‘Fraid not, miss, sold out of our stock early this morning. I can set you up with the ingredients for it, though.”

Hermione nodded. “That’ll have to do, then, thank you.”

After a few minutes, during which there was precious little small talk between the two, she had a paper bag filled with ingredients and was being waved out the door and back onto the street.

The sun had finished dipping below the horizon during her time in the shop, the street lanterns providing a rosy glow to the alley. There weren’t many patrons around and stores were closing quickly. Hermione set off toward the pub at a brisk pace, her robes billowing behind her. She was not fond of public places after dark these days.

“Oi! Granger!”

She stopped mid-step and turned towards the voice.

“George?”

He was standing in the middle of the street a few feet from her, his hand raised in greeting. He leaned down, and only then did Hermione notice Angelina Johnson standing in front of him, apparently mid-conversation. He said something to her then gave her a quick clasp on the shoulder before moving toward Hermione, a small smile on his face.

“Granger, how lucky you are to be graced with my presence.”

“I’m graced with your presence every night, George, though you are still avoiding your family six days a week.”

He stopped in front of her and ran a hand through his hair, allowing her a swift glance at the hole on the side of his head.

“You must admit, though,” he said. “Six days is an improvement over seven.”

She let out a small laugh. “I suppose you’re right.”

She started back down the alley toward the Leaky Cauldron, her pace much slower now, and he fell into step beside her. “You headed home?” he asked.

“I am,” she said, readjusting the bag of potions ingredients in her hands. “I must say, George, I’m surprised to see you out.”

“Well, you’re not the only one,” he said, holding out an arm. “Here, let me help.”

She hesitated but gave him the bag. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be Molly Weasley’s son if I let you carry that by yourself.”

“I guess that’s true.” She paused for a beat. “So, why are you in Diagon Alley this evening?”

“Ah,” he said, grimacing a bit. “To be frank, Granger, sometimes I’ll come down here and reflect on my failings as a brother and a businessman.” He was watching her carefully again, and when she took a breath to reply he shook his head and cut her off. “But that’s all I’m ready to talk about. So, what about you? What brings you to this fine shopping alley after a long day’s work?”

Hermione considered pushing the subject but thought better of it. She would take the small victory in his confession.

“I’m reflecting on my own failings as well, I suppose. I’ve been trying rather hard to get through my evenings without a dreamless sleep draught and, well,” she gestured to the bag in his hands, “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And to think this is the witch that’s been telling me I can’t do everything on my own.”

She glared at him, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes held the twinkle of something mischievous, his eyebrow cocked. She snorted, though perhaps only out of the surprise in seeing his eyes so lively.

“Well, yes, but this is a potion I’m using for help, not a person. It’s quite a different scenario.”

“Speaking of potions and assistance,” he said smoothly, opening the door to the Leaky Cauldron with his free hand. Hermione was surprised to find that they had already arrived, but she stepped through the doorway. “I was going to find you tonight to see if you’d help me with that WonderWitch potion I was attempting the other week. Though if you’d rather make your draught and sleep—”

“No, I’d love to help!” Hermione said quickly, holding the door open for him to step through. A grin lit up his face. “I’ll need to let the draught steep for at least an hour anyway, I can help you while it’s sitting.”

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“So you and Fred made this up in a week?”

“Sure, it was quite simple once we isolated the ingredients of Amortentia and broke them down to their most basic functions in the potion.”

Hermione had hastily thrown together her potion in the Weasley kitchen once the pair arrived back at the Burrow, leaving it to steep on the stove as a final step before she beelined up to George’s room, two plates of roast chicken in hand courtesy of Mrs. Weasley’s foresight. They had both gobbled down their portions before getting to work on the potion; George had already pulled out the ingredients they would need from wherever he was keeping the remainder of his Weasley’s Wheezes supplies. They were about a third of the way done, Hermione guessed, judging by the amount of ingredients still strewn across the table George had set up against the wall again, his bed pushed to the side.

“We just added a bit of flowerhead to help bind together the longevity, and some gurdyroot to make sure the drinker wasn’t under the influence of any other love potions. The most complicated part was changing the wandwork, but Fred was always good at guessing at that sort of thing once we had a vision,” he continued, working his wand in clockwise circles over the surface of the cauldron. Hermione had squatted down to get a good look at the fire they had conjured beneath it, her wand ready to enlarge or shrink the flames as necessary. According to George, keeping the temperature consistent at this step was of the utmost importance.

“And what does this do again, exactly?” she asked.

“It’s a spin on the old love potion, made to help the more shy witches and wizards among us.” George’s voice had taken on a salesman’s pitch, almost as if on accident, and Hermione couldn’t keep herself from smiling a bit at it. “It’ll make the drinker attracted to their most compatible match. Helps take away some of the pressure of starting a new relationship.”

George tapped her on the shoulder to let her know the wandwork was done. She stood up, taking a look at the contents of the cauldron curiously. It was a pleasant lilac color.

“That is quite ingenious,” she said quietly, almost to herself. She looked up and found George watching her carefully again. “So, er, what’s next?” 

He broke their eye contact to scan the table, finally picking up a bright red egg encased in what looked to be a cooling charm. “We add the Ashwinder egg. This is where it went really bad last time. I need you to be stirring the potion already when I add it in, then I’ll join you with the second motion. You’ll stop after a full minute.”

Hermione nodded, grabbing one of the metal rods laying next to the cauldron. She placed it into the potion and started stirring it at a steady pace, scooting closer to George to get a good angle on it. He grabbed the second rod then dropped the egg in, quickly joining Hermione in stirring the potion, his movements going in a straight side-to-side motion across the center of the cauldron.

At first, the potion turned the bright red color Hermione had walked in on last time, and the air grew with the same smell, firecrackers and sea salt. Eventually, though, with more stirring, the potion started to lighten, turning into a pleasant dusty pink. The smell began to mellow out, too, the scent of freshly mown grass adding to the mix, creating a strangely pleasant summer bonfire type of aroma.

After approximately 60 seconds, Hermione removed her own stirring rod from the potion and let George take over. He continued to stir until the bubbles completely dissipated and the surface turned into a shiny, glass-like texture. Only then did he stop stirring, placing the metal rod back on the table.

“It smells so good,” Hermione commented, looking up at him. “Where is that coming from? The egg?”

“Not exactly,” he said, shrugging. “It’s supposed to smell like the person you’re most compatible with. Fred smells- well,” he sighed. “Smelled. Fred smelled the leather of a quaffle and this perfume Angelina liked to wear.”

“That’s fascinating.” Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned over, breathing in the potion deeply again. The aroma was certainly different from what she remembered coming from the cauldron during Slughorn’s amortentia lesson. “This seems quite powerful, have you never thought of taking it yourself? I can’t imagine a single person that wouldn’t appreciate a little help when figuring out compatibility.”

“Well, that’s just it isn’t it? It’s just about compatibility.” He grabbed a fistful of dried rose petals from the table and threw them into the cauldron. Strangely, the ingredient only served to intensify the scent emitting from the potion. “It doesn’t factor in any of the things that make dating fun- the spark, the passion, the unpredictability.” He gave her a little eyebrow wiggle. “That’s why I said we made it for the blokes and ladies that are a little more shy, or unsure of themselves. That way they can go after someone knowing they’ll at least get on alright.”

“Huh, I guess I’ve never thought of it that way,” Hermione said, conceding.

“Anyway, I think I have it sorted from here. Thank you, Granger, you’ve been a huge help.” George was pulling some more ingredients from vials and Hermione realized she had just been standing and staring at the potion, her hand still on his back. She withdrew it quickly.

“Oh, of course!” she said, glancing at the clock he kept on his bedside table and stifling a yawn. “I need to sleep pretty desperately if I’m to be of any use at the Ministry tomorrow, anyway....” She trailed off, and when he looked up from his fiddling she held his eyes. “Thank you for letting me help out.”

“Right, don’t let it go to your head, Granger,” he said. “It’s not like I could ask my mum to help me brew a love potion.”

She laughed at that, causing George to smile. “I would have paid quite a few galleons to see Molly Weasley help you with this.”

“Luckily, I’m not as broke and desperate as I once was, otherwise I may have held you to that.” He turned and smiled, jerking his head toward the door. “Now, shove off and get some sleep. You don’t want my mum worrying about  _ your  _ health next.”

Hermione laughed again and nodded, making her way out the door and back to Ron’s room upstairs.

* * *

The library was more crowded than Hermione had ever seen it. Like every student that had ever walked the Hogwarts halls had squeezed themselves into the stacks, filling every space. She couldn’t move, couldn’t walk, couldn’t even breathe without touching a shoulder or a back. She needed... something. She needed something from the restricted section, but she couldn’t push her way through the bodies well enough to get there. She pulled on the shoulder of the person in front of her.

“Excuse me,” she said, pulling hard enough that the person whirled around to face her. 

It was Tonks.

Her face was pale white, her eyes dead and unseeing. She looked through Hermione, and Hermione screamed, shoving her body out of the way. She pulled on the shoulder of another person. Fred. Then another. Colin. 

She kept grabbing shoulders only to find the dead. Lupin. Harry’s parents. Sirius. Lavender. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she pulled and pulled her way through the sea of the fallen. She was terrified, her stomach churned. She was...

In a dream. She was in a dream. This was all an incredibly terrible nightmare, she realized, screwing her eyes shut and trying to will herself to wake, only to find that she couldn’t. Her heart pounded faster, and suddenly the bodies that had been standing passively all began to move. They faced her in unison, their eyes staring now into her. She shut hers again, dropping immediately to the floor. She screamed.

“You thought you could survive me, mudblood?”

The eerie voice seemed to come from the cavernous ceiling of the library. It wasn’t quite Voldemort’s voice, but more a bastardization of it. She screamed again.

“You’re nothing. Nothing.”

She opened her eyes, hoping she would see the ceiling of Ron’s room, but instead she was staring straight into the eyes of her friends, now corpses themselves.

“No, no, no, no!”

She thrashed around, until finally she could feel the blanket around her. Her limbs still kicked and swung until she could finally open her eyes again. She took in the dark room, filled with Ron’s clutter, his Chudley Cannons poster staring down at her from the opposite wall.

She sat up in bed, kneading her eyes with the heels of her hands until she felt awake. It was dark out still, no hint of dawn in the square of pitch-black sky that she could see from the bedroom window. She couldn’t have been asleep long, which means she must have made the potion incorrectly. Her stomach churned and lurched and she thought for a moment she might be sick, but the sensation passed.

She stood from the bed and left the room, heading down to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. Hermione knew she wouldn’t be getting back to sleep that night. The stairs squeaked predictably, and she prayed she wouldn’t wake any of the sleeping Weasleys with the noise. 

As she stepped out of the stairwell, she noticed a chill had taken over the living room. She peeked her head down the hall and saw the back door ajar, the wood swinging slightly in the outside air. Her tea plans forgotten, she tiptoed to the door and stuck her head out, only slightly surprised to find George sitting on the grass a few feet from the stoop, his shoulders shaking as if he was crying. 

“Oh,” she whispered in surprise, turning back around to scurry back the way she came.

“Hermione?”

She stilled her movements, turning back to find George’s body turned, his head looking towards her figure in the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” she said, grimacing. “I hadn’t meant to- well, the door was- I’m—” She took a breath and jabbed her thumb behind her. “You probably want to be alone, I’ll just go.”

“No,” he said, almost a little forcefully. “Rather, it’s probably best if I’m not alone right now. Will you come sit with me?”

Hermione hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the doorknob as if she would turn around and leave George to his thoughts without another word. Of course, she knew she wouldn’t do that.

“Yes, alright,” she said, grasping the doorknob and pulling the door shut behind her as she entered the backyard. She came up next to him and sat down, leaving a foot or so of space between the two of them. “But, if I’m going to be out here in the cold you’re going to have to talk about it.”

“I guess that’s a fair trade,” he sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. 

She took her wand out of her pajama pocket and conjured an orb of light to float between them, allowing her to see his face more clearly. He had clearly been crying a while; his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and there were tear tracks on his cheeks. Their eyes met, and he quickly looked away.

He stared off toward the orchard, leaning back to rest his weight on his arms. Hermione crossed her legs and picked at her nails in her lap, waiting. They sat in silence for a few minutes. When he finally opened his mouth again, his voice was thick.

“I think I might be half a person, Granger. Like when he died he took part of me with him.”

He looked like he had built a wall around himself in those moments. That small moment of vulnerability had taken a lot out of him, it seemed. Hermione frowned a bit, scooching around so that she was facing him completely, her knees just grazing his hip.

“Fred dying took a lot from you, yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re not a full person in your own right, George.”

He shook his head. 

“Everyone expects me to be him. To make up for him being gone. Mum and Dad look like they want to cry every time they see me. Ron always seems like he’s waiting for a laugh I can’t give him. Ginny looks like her heart is breaking.”

Hermione had heard this all before, in various forms, through their conversations over nightly dinner. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

“George, you know they don’t expect anything from you. They’re just healing, same as you.”

“That doesn’t explain Angelina,” he muttered bitterly, his hand reaching down next to him to pull at the blades of grass.

“Angelina?”

He sighed.

“In Diagon Alley tonight. You saved me a bit with your timing, if I’m being honest. She caught me as I was coming out of the shop and got me stuck in a chat. She asked me to dinner next week.” He grabbed a big clump of grass and threw it in front of him, into the dark. “It was innocent enough, I guess, but the way she was looking at me... like I was a life preserver and she was drowning. Like I was... him.”

Hermione stayed quiet, waiting to see if he would elaborate further. When it was clear he wouldn’t, she flipped her body around so that she was lying back on the grass, watching the stars above her. It was a clear night, and she could see quite a few constellations. After a moment, she waved her wand to extinguish the orb so she could see better.

“Sounds bloody awful, George,” she said finally. “But you didn’t magically lose yourself just because Angelina is clinging to you as her last memory of Fred. You’re your own person. Witty and inventive and brilliant all on your own. You didn’t need Fred for those things, he just helped compliment them.”

He turned towards her with a small smirk. “You really think I’m brilliant?”

She rolled her eyes. “Deflecting will not help you.”

“No,” he agreed, flopping down beside her. “But I think I’ve exhausted my emotions for the night. So, are you going to tell me why you’re out here at...” He checked his watch. “Two thirty in the morning?”

Hermione closed her eyes and groaned. It  _ was  _ late, and she knew she was going to have a rough go of it at work the next day. 

“I was so distracted making the sleeping draught I must have made it incorrectly,” she said, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t know whether to be cross or embarrassed. I brewed this potion my first year!”

George laughed. “Didn’t you put down Crabbe and Goyle with it?”

She nodded, still hiding in her hands. “I think I forgot to add the valerian root, so it didn’t erase my dreams, just locked me into a hellscape that I couldn’t get out of. It was awful.”

“I can’t imagine how terrifying that would be,” he said, voice quiet. Hermione removed her hands from her eyes and turned to look at him. “You know, I have dreams too. Sometimes waking up is the worst part, though. At least in some of my dreams he’s still alive.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t. She let it hang between them and turned her eyes back onto the sky as their silence grew, admiring the way the stars twinkled in the darkness. Then, it seemed to just be darkness.

“Hermione.”

She woke up with a start, sitting up immediately to find George seated next to her, one arm thrown over his knees and the other still on her shoulder from where he had gently shaken her. The sky was brighter now, a light pink starting to color the horizon. It would be dawn soon.

“I guess we both fell asleep,” he said. His hand fell away from her shoulder. “We should go inside, you’ll have work soon.”

Hermione nodded robotically, pushing off from the grass with a shudder. She slowly made her way back into the house, George following not far behind her. They trekked up the stairs in silence, and when they reached the landing with George’s room, he paused at the door.

“G’night, Granger.”

“Goodnight, George.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter six has finally arrived! For my weekly readers, sorry for the wait. I went out of town this past weekend (in a COVID safe way, promise!) and I tried to get this finished before I left but it just wasn't in the cards for me. As always, leave me your thoughts, it makes my week! I've started on the next chapter already, I'm trying to get it finished by Sunday as per usual, but we will see. See you all soon xx


	7. Hunting for Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, I’ve been thinking the same. I had this crazy thought the other day, in fact, of quitting my job and helping him with the shop instead.”  
> Ginny squinted at her, analyzing her face, then burst out laughing. “You’ve been spending too much time with George, Hermione. You actually had me for a second there.”  
> Hermione bit her lip, worrying the skin between her teeth for a moment. “It was quite a serious thought at the time.”

_ Hermione, _

_ I know the ministry has been hard on you. Keep at it, you’re brilliant and they’re sure to recognize it soon. I’m glad to hear your tutoring with McGonagall is going well! I’m not surprised she said you could take your NEWTS early if you wanted. I’m sure you could have passed them in June. Still, if I’m honest I’m glad Ginny’s got someone checking on her every week. _

_ Training’s been difficult, I’m sure Ron will tell you more, but we’ve been told to keep the details to a minimum. I know it’s for good reason, but I reckon you and Ginny will become rather frustrated with it before long. _

_ We’ll see you next week. Hang in there, Hermione, you’ve got this. _

_ Harry _

_ - _

_ Hermione- _

_ It’s been a right fright out here, though not nearly as terrible as where we were this time last year. I’ve got to be careful about what I write, our intelligence says there are still some death eaters out there trying to intercept owls for information about the Ministry. You’d think the lot would give it a rest once the big guy was dead, but apparently not. Anyway, I reckon they’ll give us the okay to talk about it soon enough. _

_ I don’t like hearing about how the office is treating you. Have you thought about talking to Kingsley about it? I’m sure he could get things sorted for you, seeing as you’re one of the saviors of the free world and all. Just a thought. You’re the best they’ve got and I’m sure they’ll work you up the ranks soon enough. Unlucky, that bloke you had to blame for those kids getting killed, but I’m sure they didn’t just pick some random guy off the street. They know what they’re doing there, it’s been working for years. _

_ We’ve got a weekend visit coming next week, our only one til Christmas if our trainer’s to be believed. We could celebrate your birthday then? Harry’s getting a room in Hogsmeade to spend some time with Ginny (which I hate), but it’ll mean we’ll have some time alone together. _

_ Missing you, _

_ Ron _

* * *

It was late September before Hermione received the letters from the boys, which were delivered to Ron’s bedroom window by an owl she had never seen before in the early hours of a dreary Friday morning. The tawny bird’s tapping was almost drowned out by the steady cadence of rain smacking against the glass. When Hermione finally realized it was there and opened the latch, the bird nearly flew straight into her hair in its attempts to relieve itself from the rain.

“Oh you poor thing,” she said, once it was safely inside and perched on Ron’s desk, its feathers dripping onto the wood. She pulled out her wand and dried the animal, then detached the two pieces of dampened parchment from its leg. She tore into the wax seals immediately, pacing back to the bed.

She read each one quickly, fishing some owl treats out of Ron’s bedside table and feeding them to what she assumed was the Ministry owl, much to Pigwidegon’s displeasure. He hooted angrily at her from his cage atop Ron’s wardrobe, and she shushed him absent-mindedly.

She tried to stamp down her disappointment when she realized the letters’ short length. It likely wasn’t fair, she knew, to expect lengthy replies to her letters, though she had been writing them every week since their departure. Still, just because she was prioritizing them in her week didn’t mean they would be afforded the same opportunities on the road. Harry  _ was  _ right, though. She was already quite annoyed with the MInistry’s regulation of information.

The Ministry owl pecked her gently, and she checked the clock she kept atop Ron’s nightstand; she was disappointed to find that she didn’t have time to write responses before she had to get ready for her weekly lesson with Professor McGonogall. She shooed away the bird, opening the window so it could fly away, then closing it firmly against the wind. She gave a few treats to Pig in an attempt to soothe the little owl, stuck both pieces of parchment into her schoolbag and hurriedly dressed for her day, promising herself that she’d write back to them later.

* * *

“Headmistress?”

Hermione was standing in the middle of Professor McGonagall’s new tower office, her wand outstretched, guiding her otter patronus lazily around the room. The shining animal flipped and dove around the office, skirting around the tall bookshelves that had taken over the curio cabinets that had previously occupied the room, and teasing the bird that sat atop one of them. The afternoon light filtering through the tall windows danced with the silver form, making the rays disperse prettily against the walls. The Headmistress was watching it intently.

“Very good, Ms. Granger, most impressive” she finally replied. “You may stop.”

Hermione flicked her wand and the otter disappeared, leaving behind a warm, cheery feeling in the air. Professor McGonagall turned toward Hermione, a small smile on her face. 

“Your question?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said. “I was just wondering... how much you knew about memory charms.”

It was their third weekly meeting, but Hermione had yet to breach the subject of memory with Professor McGonagall. Part of her wondered why, knowing there was ample opportunity, but the other part of her knew she feared the eventual answer.

“Memory charms?” Professor McGonagall strode to her desk and took her seat behind it; Hermione bit her lip, then took the seat across from her, placing her wand on the worn wood. “What types of memory charms do you mean?”

“Memory modification charms. Specifically, their reversal on muggles.”

Hermione kept her face neutral, her fingers absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on the sleeve of her jumper. Still, Professor McGonagall cocked an eyebrow behind her square spectacles. Hermione’s heart jumped as if she was being admonished.

“I’m sure you know, Ms. Granger, that memory modification charms are not advisable for use except in the most dire of situations. They are nearly impossible to break.”

“We all had to make sacrifices for the war, Headmistress,” Hermione said quietly. “Though I’d prefer not to go into much more detail than that.”

Professor McGonagall’s face softened, and she pulled a piece of parchment out of one of her drawers, scribbling a note on it.

“Well, I don’t believe I’m quite the best person to ask about the subject. I’ll speak to Filius this week and see if he has any insight. It would be helpful if I knew the exact charms used?” 

“The obliviate charm as well as the memory implantation spell,” Hermione said. “Obliviate was used first, then the implantation charm.”

McGonagall nodded, writing down some more notes. “I will see what I can find for you, Ms. Granger. Though, you should know that we refrain from tampering with the mind for good reason. From my limited knowledge, it’s exceedingly difficult to reverse these types of spells. The only cases that immediately come to mind have been reversed through vile acts of torture.”

Hermione swallowed, nodding. “I understand, Headmistress. I’m just hoping to find a silver lining, I suppose.”

“I suppose we all are, Ms. Granger,” Professor McGonagall replied. “Now, I think our lesson is complete for the afternoon. I take it you’ll be requesting permission to remain in the castle again to visit Ms. Weasley?”

“If at all possible, yes,” Hermione said.

“Very well,” Professor McGonagall smiled at her. “Take some of my floo powder and use the fireplace in the common room to return home, I’ll have it opened for you. The password is Fluxweed.”

“Thank you very much, Professor.”

And with that, Hermione pushed her way out of the chair and headed down the stairs away from the tower.

* * *

It took Hermione a bit longer than it should have to reach the Gryffindor Tower. She had started taking the long way around the castle to arrive at the portrait of the Fat Lady after having crossed in front of the Room of Requirement after her first lessons. She had remembered Fred’s eyes, dead and cold as he lay amongst the rubble in the corridor, and immediately ran to the nearest girl’s toilet to be sick. 

Anyway, she told herself, the extra exercise was nice after sitting at a desk all week.

When she finally reached the Fat Lady’s corridor, she was greeted with a stern look from the portrait.

“And where are your robes?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Fluxweed,” Hermione replied, ignoring the question entirely, which earned her an eye roll from the Fat Lady.

Her portrait swung open, though as Hermione stepped through she could hear her muttering about respect and passwords. She laughed a little at that.

The Gryffindor common room remained largely unchanged in the wake of the battle, a fact that brought Hermione great comfort each time she stepped into it. The fire was lit and the flames danced cheerily, helping illuminate the space and stave off the chill, much worse here than it was in Devon. Her favorite armchair was still kicking, angled perfectly towards the flames. Today it held a tiny first-year student, curled up with a blanket and a book.

“It’s hard to believe we were ever that small, huh?”

“Ginny!”

Hermione found the other girl at her elbow, her attention so focused on the first year that she hadn’t heard her approach.

“Hard to imagine we were that small  _ and  _ dealing with some bastardized version of the darkest wizard in history,” Hermione amended, before bringing the other girl into her arms and squeezing her. “How was your week? Tell me everything. Make me regret not coming back again.”

Ginny laughed, squeezing her back. “Stop that. You know you would be bored to tears in these classes.”

Hermione sighed into the hug, then released, pulling Ginny to a sofa in a more secluded corner of the room. Not that they really needed the privacy, given the hour. Ginny had a free period, but most of the school was still in class. In fact, the first year was the only other person Hermione saw.

“Wait,” she said, looking over to him again, her eyes narrowing. “Shouldn’t he be in class right now?”

Ginny shook her head. “Will you ever stop being such a prefect?” she asked, laughing as Hermione turned to give her the same narrow-eyed expression. “First years are doing the spiky bush in Herbology, I believe. I saw him leaving the hospital wing as I was leaving History of Magic.”

“Oh, well.” Hermione visibly deflated at this, running a hand through her hair. “I guess you know what they say about old habits.”

“No, I don’t. You’d think you’d remember which ones are muggle sayings by now.”

Hermione snorted. “Alright, alright. So, how’s the week been?”

Ginny lounged back on the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows and holding it on her lap. She closed her eyes a bit. “It’s been a right bore, and I’m not nearly as competent with spellwork as you are. Remind me of why I need to take my NEWTs again?”

“Loads of reasons, but the main one is your mum might actually lose her mind if another one of her children skived off them.”

“Right as always, Hermione. Right as always.”

Hermione smiled at that and settled into the couch herself. “The team looking alright?”

Ginny had been nervous about tryouts the week before. Finding a decent seeker to replace Harry, she had said, would be nearly impossible, and while Hermione didn’t quite care enough to follow the intricacies of it, she did know that finding raw talent like Harry’s was unlikely.

“They’re looking decent,” Ginny replied. “We’ve got a fourth year, Bhatt, on as seeker. She’s not nearly as fast as Harry, but she’s got good eyes. A little broom training and she’ll be alright. Better than I hoped for, at least.”

“Well that’s promising! When’s the first game?”

“First week of November this year,” Ginny said. She sat up suddenly, grinning. “Oh, I almost forgot! You know what the best part is?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Slughorn pulled me aside after class today and told me he talked to Gwenog Jones— oh stop making that face, I know you dislike her but she’s a bloody brilliant player— and he said he’s convinced her to come to the first game with her manager to watch me play! Me!” 

Ginny was practically bouncing in her seat, and Hermione couldn’t help but be filled with joy at her friend’s excitement. She pulled Ginny into a hug, fast and tight, then let her go.

“Ginny, that’s incredible! We’ll have to make a big celebration, bring the whole family out to watch.”

“You sound like mum,” Ginny said, though she laughed when she did it. “Think George might make his way out for some Quidditch?”

Hermione shrugged. “Guess it can’t hurt to ask.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, sighing and laying back down. “How has he been?”

“The same, mostly.” Hermione sighed. “He mentioned something early in the week about maybe wanting to do owl orders again for the shop, but he hasn’t brought it up since. If I had to guess I’d say he’s overwhelmed.”

“Be hard not to be. Sometimes I wish he would just ask for some help if he needed it.”

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, I’ve been thinking the same. I had this crazy thought the other day, in fact, of quitting my job and helping him with the shop instead.”

Ginny squinted at her, analyzing her face, then burst out laughing. “You’ve been spending too much time with George, Hermione. You actually had me for a second there.”

Hermione bit her lip, worrying the skin between her teeth for a moment. “It was quite a serious thought at the time.”

This sobered Ginny up fairly quickly.

“Merlin, do you hate your job that much?”

“I think I do,” Hermione said quietly. “It’s incredibly demoralizing realizing the lengths we go to keep who we are a secret. We put that innocent muggle man in jail this week, and I just... I came home so upset about it. Your mum found me at the kitchen table completely inconsolable, sobbing into a tea towel.”

“What I still don’t understand is why you didn’t tell little Eddie or whatever his name is that you were not doing that under any circumstances.”

Hermione groaned.

“Ginny,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He said that the only other option was  _ modifying the memories of the parents  _ so they  _ forgot they had kids _ . And do you know what he said about that option? That the Ministry decided it was  _ too cruel.  _ He told me later that muggles get restless when that happens, that they have this hole in them but they don’t know what’s missing so they will sometimes just go mad! What was I supposed to say when that’s possibly what I’ve subjected my parents to?”

Ginny sighed. “Fair enough, I guess. Still think you should’ve put that prat in his place.”

Hermione picked at a loose thread at the sleeve of her jumper, her heart suddenly pounding. She was fairly effective at pushing the idea of “Monica and Wendell” out of her head most hours of the day, but whenever she was reminded of her parents possibly losing their minds in Australia thanks to her, her stomach would turn with the worst anxiety she’d ever experienced. She tapped her foot on the floor, searching for something to change the subject to.

“Did you get a letter from Harry?”

“Yes, I did,” Ginny said, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. “We’ve never had to write, you know? We’ve always been just friends, or together here, or he’s been rounding up Horcruxes with you lot. I got  _ butterflies  _ when I realized who the letter was from. Butterflies! Can you believe that?”

Hermione frowned. She went back to picking her jumper sleeve uncomfortably.

“Hard to believe,” she said. “I was mostly cross that their letters weren’t longer.”

“You mean my git brother didn’t write you a novel? They’ve had three weeks!”

“That’s what I said!” Hermione said, a bit too loudly. The first year jumped in his chair, looking over to where the girls were sitting. Hermione smiled in apology, and he went back to his reading, though his eyes were still wide when he turned away. “That’s what I said,” she tried again, quieter this time. “I got two lousy paragraphs and a note about how they’re coming home this weekend.”

“You must admit,” Ginny said, laughing a bit. “Ron’s never really had a way with words.”

“No,” Hermione said, huffing. “He has not. But I’ve received longer letters over Christmas Holiday from him.”

“Ouch,” Ginny replied.

Hermione sighed, her eyes fixated on the crimson rug beneath them, the sun from the tower window behind them creating a golden patch on it. Little particles of dust swirled together, suspended in the light.

“Hermione?” Ginny said finally, breaking the silence. “I acknowledge that I’m about to sound like my horribly unprepared brother right now, but I have Transfiguration in a bit and we have an essay due. I’m not sure about my introduction, could you take a look at it?”

Hermione smiled, genuinely grateful to be given the opportunity to tackle something she was good at for a change. She nodded.

“Well, alright, bring it here.”

“You,” Ginny said, standing quickly and planting a kiss on top of Hermione’s head, “are the best future sister-in-law ever.”

“Ugh,” Hermione said. “What is it with you Weasleys! We’ve only been dating for  _ six months. _ ”

Ginny shrugged. “Well, you’re practically Harry’s sister too, so. One way or another, you’ll be my sister-in-law.”

With that, she dashed off towards the girl’s staircase, leaving Hermione shaking her head and laughing on the couch.

* * *

The week leading to the boys’ visit seemed to go slower than usual. At work, Hermione was embroiled in a complicated situation involving four vampires and half of a small muggle village in Romania. The reports were conflicting, but from what she was able to surmise, the vampires had decided to make a statement about their poor treatment from the Ministry by turning half of the village into vampires. It was a mess, requiring the entire office to put their cases on hold until they could figure out a plausible solution for the incident, and while Hermione was glad to not be stuck working just with Edmund, it was requiring her to take longer and longer hours.

It had also birthed a new nightmare, one that Hermione would likely rank as one of the worst her mind had managed to conjure in the months following the ending of Voldemort’s reign of terror. Since her briefing of the situation on Monday, she had woken each night in cold sweats, crying because her parents had been captured and turned into vampires against their will. It was twofold, the pain she felt, both the dread for her parents’ unknown fate and the disappointment for her held prejudices making her sick. 

She found it impossible to sleep each time it happened, so she would rouse herself and find menial tasks around the house to complete. Knitting a scarf. Organizing the tea canisters. Cleaning the fireplace by hand. Each one enough to keep her occupied, awake, for the few hours before she had to ready herself for work.

At the end of the day Thursday, Edmund looked at her and very bluntly told her she looked like death itself. It took everything in her to not burst into tears on the spot. Instead, she gave him a tight-lipped smile and her best impression of Professor McGonagall when she replied that she was just ensuring she was taking her job seriously, thank you very much.

“So you haven’t forgotten about our meeting Saturday, then?” he replied, much to Hermione’s disappointment. Prott had assigned the whole team extra hours over the weekend to finish off the vampire case.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to give you the impression that I’m the type of person to forget things,” she said, “but I’m not.”

“Just checking, didn’t want your boyfriend’s arrival to stray your focus from the case.”

“I am regretting telling you about him more and more each day, Edmund.”

By the time Friday morning rolled around, Hermione was burnt-out, irritable, and in desperate need of a nap. She wished she hadn’t had the terrible experience with the sleep draught, as she hadn’t been able to bring herself to use it since, and she very nearly fell asleep mid-way through her floo journey to Hogwarts.

Blissfully, the lesson’s hours went by quickly and without much fanfare. Professor McGonagall presented her, at the top of the first hour, with a number of Arithmancy problems and questions intending to check her competency on them.

“I’ve not maintained my Arithmancy studies since my youth, unfortunately,” she said when presenting Hermione with the parchment, “but Professor Vector has agreed to meet with you if necessary to bring you up to NEWT level. Though, she did mention she believed you were likely already ready for the tests.”

This had become a mantra from the Headmistress during their time together: Hermione was clearly capable of taking her NEWTs already. Hermione blushed a bit as she worked over the problems carefully. 

“I’ve finished,” she said finally, handing the parchment to Professor McGonogall, who eyed it curiously. Hermione looked at the clock hanging off to the side of the desk and found that two hours had already passed.

“Very good, I’ll send this to Septima at the end of our time together. Now, Ms. Granger, wand out. We’ll be practicing jinxes this afternoon.”

She waved her own wand and a practice dummy appeared about a foot away from them, not unlike the ones they had used during their D.A. practices fifth year. 

“I believe we’ll start with the sea urchin jinx.”

Three hours later, Hermione had successfully tortured the dummy into submission. She had turned it into a sea urchin, stretched it beyond comprehension, made its legs jelly, and then done it all again, this time non-verbally.

“Once again, Ms. Granger, I am most impressed. I know we only have five more sessions before your exams, but I believe you are more than ready,” Professor McGonagall said, vanishing the dummy as she did. She took a seat at her desk, and Hermione followed suit.

“Thank you, Professor,” she replied.

“One more thing before you go.” Professor McGonagall opened one of her drawers and fished out a folded piece of parchment. “I’ve looked into the problem you presented me with during our last session, and I’m afraid to say that there was not much to find. As I suspected, memory alteration has nearly universally been done with the intention of permanence. Of course, there are theories...” She gestured at the parchment. “I spoke with Filius, discreetly, I assure you, and he wrote to a colleague. She recommended a text,  _ Magicke of the Minde,  _ to help understand the ways magic will interact with the brain. Of course, it mentions nothing about muggles.”

Hermione sighed, nodding glumly. “That’s the text I’ve been working through, Professor.”

“I see.” Professor McGonagall smiled at her kindly, though Hermione was mortified to detect a bit of pity in the gesture. “Well, I have the letter from her here, if you’d like it. She discusses the matter quite thoroughly. Maybe you’ll be able to gain some wisdom from her musings.”

Hermione nodded and took the parchment from the Headmistress. 

“Thank you,” she said. “For looking into it. Even if it was a bit disappointing.”

“It was no trouble at all, Ms. Granger. Now, I think that should be enough for today. Will you be visiting Ms. Weasley again this week?”

“Er, no,” Hermione replied, shoving the letter into her bookbag for further examination at a different time. “Ron will be home for the weekend, so I’ll be headed back to the Burrow through your fireplace, if that’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all, and tell Mr. Weasley I said hello.”

Hermione smiled at her. “I will. Have a good week, Professor.”

“You as well.”

Hermione hitched her bookbag onto her shoulder and strode over to the fireplace. She grabbed a handful of floo powder off the mantle and threw it into the flames. She stepped into the emerald-green blaze and yelled “The Burrow” as clearly as she was able, and she was sent off spinning into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're a bit late this week but I'm going to give myself a pass with Halloween. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! 
> 
> I wrote a George/Hermione scene for this one, but I had to cut it because it just didn't quite work out with the pacing of the chapter. I very seriously thought about polishing it into a one-shot so that I could still post it, but I wasn't sure if anyone would actually read it lol. Let me know if you'd be interested in something like that?
> 
> As always, please comment if you liked what you read! It makes my week and helps me get through some of my writers block. See you all next week with more xx


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